


The Mandalorian and the Marshal

by Oopsynini



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adorable Grogu | Baby Yoda, Alien Biology, Alien Cobb Vanth, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Bounty Hunters, Canon-Typical Violence, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Eventual Smut, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, NonVegan, POV Alternating, Romance, Temporary Character Death, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Virgin Din Djarin, Wilderness Survival, child endangerment, parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:16:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28572882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oopsynini/pseuds/Oopsynini
Summary: The Mandalorian's quest to find the child's people has brought him back to the one place Din Djarin wasn't much interested in going. Tatooine. Nothing but bad luck hide'\s in the sands of the desert planet, and this time is no different. Injured and lost in the desert, Din has to fight against bounty hunters, dehydration, and the local wildlife to protect himself and the child.Cobb Vanth lives a simple life as the Marshal of Mos Pelgo. He spends his days protecting his people and fighting those that would do them harm. He's not much interested in helping off-worlder's, even less so off-worlders that bring hordes of bounty hunters down on his home. Then a Mandalorian ends up on his doorstep, dying, delirious, and speaking of a child who has been stolen.Together they have a child to save, bounty hunters to defeat, and a dragon to kill. And just maybe they might develop some feelings for each other along the way— if Din can stop being emotionally constipated and accept Cobbs advances.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 60
Kudos: 125





	1. THE BOUNTY HUNTERS

**Author's Note:**

> This is canon-divergent, with changes happening after season one. I'm taking my own liberties with Cobb's character, so there are going to be changes to the storyline that come with that.

Sharp red lines of blaster fire split the darkness. Chasing across the sky in vibrant, glowing arcs. The blasts crashed to the ground and sent up plumes of sand that scudded against his helmet. Each shot pushed the Mandolorian onward. Though towards where he could not be certain. All he knew was that they were being herded. Like a damn squall of dewback, chased across the barren landscape.

The small bundle in his arm shifted, shivering in fear.

"Shhh..." The Mandalorian whispered as he checked over his shoulder. He couldn't see much of their enemies. It helped when his helmet sensors activated. Glowing red forms lit up his vision, the tech showing him the heat signatures of their pursuers. People moved along the hills, some on speeder bikes, others scrambling in bounding jumps, their forms visible for only a moment when they passed through the sky, before disappearing back into the darkness below. Ten, at the least, probably more, hidden by the rugged landscape. 

Bounty hunters. Again. Did they ever stop?

The shouts and laughter of those chasing them broke through the darkness. They jested like this was a game, not a matter of life and death. _New bloods_ , he spit. If they had any skill, he'd be dead by now. Did they know who they were dealing with? Din Djarin was a master bounty hunter, a class all his own. It would take more than a few dozen low-level hunters to take him down. 

"Idiots." He hissed, ducking behind the large outline of a cactus just long enough to catch his breath. He shifted the child in his arms, crouching down to lessen his target points.

The sound of a foot sliding through sand came from his right. Din jerked his head in time to see a figure emerge from the darkness. With a zing and a high pitched shriek of compressed air, the cactus at his back blew up. Dozens of broken pieces showered down from above. The sound of a blaster charging had Din snarling. He rushed towards the noise and lunged, driving the butt of his rifle hard into what he could only assume was the Bounty hunter's face. The crack of the bones in his nose crunching was enough to tell him he was right. Din shoved the alien to the ground with one well-placed hit to the sternum and made him stay there, kneeling on top of the sputtering, choking fool to stop him from getting back up. Hands scrambled at his leg, yanking on the beskar there in an attempt to break free.

Crouched close, his position in the failing light giving him a glimpse of a scaled face and dark green skin. Trandoshan. Normally a skilled hunter, this one didn't belong with the pack of dogs behind them. It had to be running the bounty solo. There wasn't but a moment to think of mercy. The Trandoshan were prideful and strong. If Din let it go, then the creature would chase him to the ends of this planet, and possibly the next. 

Din dropped his rifle long enough to take up his blade from the sheath at his side. He palmed the familiar weight before moving in for the kill. The blade's metal skidded along tough scales before driving upward, into the hollow of the Trandoshan's chin. A gurgle of protest was all that Din caught before the point plowed into its brain. Quick and quiet as possible, he yanked the blade free, blood squelching across his gloves. Wiping the blade clean on the dead hunter's tunic, he slid it back into its sheath at his ankle. With a grunt, he stood back up, sliding the strap of his rifle up over his shoulder, the familiar weight settling on his back, counterbalancing the small bundle in his right arm.

The howls of the others were getting closer, followed by the revving whine of bike engines. He ran before the others could catch up, moving on silent feet through the dense sand. 

Not silent enough. A blaster shot zipped by just above his head.

The bright ray of blaster fire flashed across Din's vision. Sharp, blinding lights that shone painfully in the all-encompassing darkness. Chest heaving, Din spun to face his aggressor, blocking another shot with his vambrace, and then another, this time with his helmet. The shot rang in his ears, further disorienting him. Din tripped, his knees giving out and he tumbled down the sandy dunes. He ducked, wrapping his arms tight around the precious cargo in them. Each twisting jolt of his body hitting earth ricocheted through his bones. Pain flashed bright and sharp. At the bottom of the hill, his body came to an abrupt stop, skidding the last few feet on momentum alone. 

He lay there, the wind knocked from his chest, floating in an island of agony.

"Danke ferrik." He groaned when his lungs finally decided to work again, and he could breathe. He coughed, his lungs protesting the effort. There was sand smeared across the inside of his helmet, making it difficult to see. The helmet display sputtered, flickering, before going out, leaving him back in darkness. 

"You alright, kid?" Din croaked, lifting his head to look at the small bundle in his arms. The child's watery eyes peered back at him, worried and scared in the light from the three moons overhead. He had a scrape on his scalp but looked unharmed, other than that.

"Yeah, me neither." Placing the baby on the ground, Din's armor creaked as he struggled to his feet. His ankle protested, almost collapsing under his weight, but he bore through it, gritting his teeth under the beskar of his helmet, lifting it only enough to spit blood and dirt onto the silty ground beneath them.

Tatooine. If he didn't know better, he'd think the whole planet was cursed. Although lately, it seemed it was probably just him. The Curse of the Mandalorian. How fitting.

He was hurt, he'd lived long enough with his body to know what a broken rib felt like, and this was more like three or four. Gingerly, he pressed his palm to his side. Each breath ached, sharp and hot. 

A shout came from the top of the dune. Looking up, he could see black silhouettes crest the hills, framed by the shine of the largest moon. They towered in the moonlight, the only visible movement in the darkness. 

"Found him!" Someone cackled, his form descending the dune in leaping jolts. Din rolled his eyes, lifting his disruptor rifle and leveling it where he thought the hunter would be. He could feel the baby's hands twist in the fabric of his trousers, tiny nails scrapping on leather. The light touch grounded him, gave him a purpose. It was odd, going all these years without being touched and now craving it as much as he did. He took in a slow, shallow breath. Exhaling. he caught the glint of a blaster handle. Lips twisting into a grin, Din aimed and fired, the resulting implosion lost in the darkness. Only the hunter's screams telling him his aim had hit true.

"Fender's down! Take cover!" A woman warned.

"Bounty is split fourteen now, have at 'em!" Someone else answered gleefully, not at all worried for their dead comrade. 

Din took that as his cue to get out. Crouching back to the ground, he gathered the child up in his arms, dusting him free of sand.

Turning, he ran deeper into the icy chill of the desert planet, his rifle a makeshift crutch, his back tense, he couldn't help but imagine the dozens of blasters aimed at it. He hated putting his back to his enemy, but in some instances, standing and fighting just wasn't an option. Running on sand wasn't feasible. So, once he had managed to put a small amount of distance between them, he had to slow to a walk. It was that, or risk falling again. If he fell now, he wasn't sure he would be able to get back up.

Din kept his eyes forward and shifted the child in his arms, easing him over so that his good side could grip the stalk of his rifle. The kid was heavy but nothing like other foundlings in size. Din didn't mind. Even if he had weighed double, he was worth carrying—worth protecting. No matter the cost. 

Veering around a large outcropping of rock, his feet stalled out. The vast expanse of the wilderness sprawled out in front of him—nothing but rolling dunes of beige sand and the occasional scraggly plant life. The rock outcropping at his right seemed to be the only cover for kilometers. His helmet indicated no heat signatures or signs of life. He couldn't be certain if that meant it was broken or not. The whine of electricity buzzing against his scalp indicated it was probably the former. A glance behind showed the same empty desert. With any luck, they were finally alone.

Overhead the first moon was setting, while the other two still hung high in the sky. An icy chill grew with its loss, pressing into his armor and whisking the heat on his skin away. They needed to find shelter and fire, if possible, before hypothermia set in. So he continued onward, trudging through the dunes, chest heaving in pained gasps. The child was silent, his fingers gripping Din's cloak, his small knees digging into his side.

When shelter finally came, it was through no discovery of his own. Instead, it found them. Din took one last step, and the ground gave, sand flushing downward with a sudden, rolling rush. The earth to swallow them whole in an instant. He scrambled, choking back a shout of pain as his ankle protested the sudden movements. Then he was falling through the air, sand spewing up all around them. 

He landed hard, the sand just barely breaking his fall enough for it not to be too damaging.

"Nnnn." Din groaned from where he lay, sprawled on his back. What in the hell? Peering around, all he could see was that they were surrounded by darkness. Even the stars were hidden from sight. Wherever they were, they weren't outside anymore. The baby shifted by his side, making a soft sound of discontent.

Quietly he weighed his options. If he used a flare to light up their location, he might draw the Bounty hunters towards them, but if he didn't, they'd be trapped here until the sun rose. That wasn't an option. For all he knew, they had dropped into a Sarlacc pit. 

Blaster at the ready, he scrambled at his hip until he managed to unzip his pocket and drag out a flare. The scent of sulfur filled his sinuses as he lit it, bright green light spilling outward. Squinting, he sat up far enough to peer around. 

The glow of hundreds of eyes stared down at them, reflecting in the green light, but otherwise unmoved by their presence. A soft, curious twittering bounced off the cave walls. Above, Din could see the hole they'd fallen through, maybe fifteen feet over them, and roughly six feet in diameter. Small enough to miss if the sun wasn't out.

The walls were made of rough sandstone, with minerals dripping down the sides, turning the stone pale white in places. They were in some form of cavern, or maybe a sinkhole. Din turned about, pointing his flare all around until he caught sight of a tunnel off to the side. 

"Come on." He whispered. Ignoring the flutter of wings from above, he walked towards what he could only hope was an exit. The soft patter of feet on sandstone was enough to tell him the baby was following. Walking, the air grew cooler the closer they got, he heaved a sigh of relief when a fresh breeze cut through the tunnel.

It opened out into a smaller cavern, this one with a view of the night sky. Animal musk was thick here, though the beast itself wasn't present, thank the stars, Din limped around, but the only signs of it were a pile of thick black fur that had drifted into a corner, a collection of half-rotten wood with gnaw marks on it, and the smell. 

It wasn't much, but it would have to do.

"Right...let's camp here for the night." With a trained eye, he moved towards the most defensible position. Setting up camp in the far corner. Far enough away from both the tunnel entrance and the external exit. The cave wall would hopefully block most of the firelight if they were lucky.

Din heaved his rifle off his shoulder, his bag following it down to the sandy floor. 

"Get some of that wood, will you?" He asked, smiling when dark eyes peered up at him, reflecting green in the flare light. The child burbled in agreement, turning to do as requested. 

Din grunted his appreciation, eyeing the ground with apprehension. It felt altogether too difficult to stay standing, but sitting down didn't sound pleasant either. Finally giving in, he dropped his sorry bag of flesh to the ground, his knees practically giving out underneath him. His ass hit the dirt with a puff, bringing with it jarring pain that had him gasping and clutching his aching side.

The child (Stars, he'd need to think of a name for him) waddled back with an armload of wood, dropping it by Din's side. Together they set to work making the fire, neither one much for talking. Din gathered some fur, using that and the flare to get a flame started. Just in time too. The green sparks were sputtering, fading to nothing but a pale glow. He gathered what wood the baby brought him, murmuring his appreciation until they finally had the fire going. It was a small thing, just barely enough to stave off the chill, but he dared not set it any bigger.

There wasn't a whole lot to do after that. Lick their wounds. Catch some rest while they could. He'd need to repair his helmet, but that would have to wait until the baby was asleep.

Hissing under his breath, he stretched out his leg and began the difficult work of getting his armor and boot off. His ankle throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and even leaning over was difficult, his ribs protesting the movement. 

"Frag..." He cursed under his breath, shoving the shin guard into his bag so he wouldn't lose it. The child watched, lips mewing downward into a pout before he struggled onto his feet and made his way over. His bare feet left small, tri-toed footprints in the sand. Din chuckled, watching tiny, awkward fingers take hold of his boot and tug the laces. "I don't know if you're strong enough to do that, little one." He teased, though he couldn't protest past that. The whole taking off the shoe thing was a terrible idea anyway. It seemed like more effort than it was worth. More pain too.

The baby huffed, ignoring his warning and taking hold of the boot. He tugged, once, then twice. Din gritted his teeth through the pain, groaning out a choaked sound of relief when the boot finally gave. The leather slid off his foot and sent the baby tumbling onto his bottom with a grunt of shock.

"Ahh..." The child mumbled, looking very pleased with himself. Din chuckled in surprise, shaking his head. 

"Yes, you're very strong. Good job." He praised. Chuckling, he turned to dig through his bag for bandages. He came upon the water flask instead and tossed it over to the baby.

"There, drink up." He commanded, watching to see if he could open the stopper. The child gurgled and placed the boot to the side. He reached for the drink with a desperation that spoke of a day running through the hot desert. "Save some for me." Din reminded, watching half of their water spill down that green chin while he drank, the fluid darkening the fabric on his chest.

Din dragged the bag onto his lap and dug through the mounds of clothing and weapons to find the bandages. His ankle would need some extra supported if he planned on running on it for the foreseeable future. So would his ribs, if he were honest. A bandage roll brushed against his fingers. He gathered it up before he reached out to peel the sock off.

Oh, that looked...worse than he'd thought it would, even in the dim firelight. The ankle was already swollen, the flesh darkening into a bluish-black. Turning it this way and that, he didn't feel anything broken. He'd just rolled the joint, it seemed. He touched and prodded the skin, but there wasn't anything for it but to wrap it up and hope for the best. 

That done, Din shrugged off his chest armor and then reached for his shirt. There was something distinctly discomforting about peeling off that last layer of fabric and letting the cold air brush against his skin. He didn't often choose to be nude. Those rare occasions usually occurred in the confines of his bunk on the Razor Crest. Some might call him modest, but he was also very practical. Without his armor, he was vulnerable, exposed to attack. It was every Mandolorian's greatest fear, to be caught in a fight without armor to protect them. Even so, it needed to be done. 

As he set to the task of binding his chest, he couldn't help but think about the other times he had found himself so vulnerable. They were few and far between, and therefore very memorable. The bulk of them tended to revolve around people trying to get off his helmet or armor, either in a fight or for medical purposes. But the most memorable had been the time Xi'an had managed to wrangle him out of his armor with promises of romance and then promptly stabbed him in the gut and stolen his Beskad sword. Romance, he had never given in to that pretense again. To this day, he didn't know what she'd done with that damn blade, thieves. There was no trusting them.

Without another pair of hands helping to bandage him up, the work proved difficult. The bandages ended up lopsided and loose in some areas. He tried to keep his pained sounds down to a minimum, so he didn't scare the kid. He was used to this, the suffering in silence, the working alone. He'd just never had to do it with a toddler in tow. Din wasn't fooling either of them, straining his way through tying the bandages off. He gritted and ground his teeth throughout the whole process. When he finished, he let his head fall back against the rock wall, gasping out a sound of relief through the pained tears in his eyes. 

"I'm alright...I'm alright." He gasped, for the baby's sake, or for his, he wasn't certain. It did feel better, after a moment, the tight wrap pressing broken ribs back into place.

Small fingers fluttered by his leg, and Din knew what the child was thinking of doing.

"Leave it." The child stared up at him, making a sound of disagreement. His eyes fluttering closed in a look of concentration that was far too familiar. Din shook his head, jerking his leg from underneath that small hand. "Leave it. I need you to save your strength.

We're not out of this yet. Not by a long shot." 

The child sighed but seemed to give in. Instead, he wobbled the last few steps to settle in by Din's side and offered up the drinking flask. Din accepted, shucking up his helmet enough so that he could suck down the last few mouthfuls. The water coated his dry tongue. He swished the first mouthful around, rinsing the dust off his teeth and spitting it on the ground. The rest he downed in a couple of sips. Not much, not much at all.

"Thank you." Din set the empty flask aside, watching the baby shift in the firelight. That small expressive face tilted, looking back up at him, and he couldn't help but wonder what the little creature was thinking. The scrape on the side of his head marred otherwise undamaged skin. Din had almost forgotten about it. "Hmm..." Reaching out, he set his fingers under the baby's chin and tilted his face towards the firelight so he could better see. The cut was superficial and had already started to scab. Even so, it pissed him off to see it there. It meant he hadn't done his job well enough. "We should clean you up too." 

Taking up the last of the bandages, he used some water to wet them down and wipe away the blood and sand, careful not to wash the particles into his large eyes. The baby whined unhappily, squinting in pain, his head flinching back as he tried to get away.

"Ah...no, stay still, little one," Din hissed back at him, chuckling when he finally got the child to stop moving enough so that he could rub some antibacterial medicine on the scrape. A wound plaster was the final touch. 

"There, look at you. All better." Din gathered him close, resting one hand on the back of his small neck and giving it a gentle squeeze of comfort. The child whined, still upset about the whole mess, but calmed quickly enough, leaning into Din's thumb as he idly ran it along the edge of one pointed ear. The sleepy sigh that followed indicated he was comfortable, content even. 

Din watched him, his own eyelids heavy, exhaustion creeping in. He could hardly fault the child for his exhaustion. The day had been long, but one that was far too familiar. It seemed like every week they were doing this back and forth. Run, fight, heal, run. 

A delicate shiver hummed against his leg from where the baby rested. The chill in the air pervasive despite the fire. Din reached for his cloak, laying it across his knees, with the rest swaddling the baby. 

The fire crackled, embers chasing upwards, into the cavernous roof above them.

In the distance, Din heard the sound of gunfire. He used his good foot to kick sand at the flames, dousing them down to bare ashes. He pulled out his blaster, watching, waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dah dah dah! The starts to a new advanture! I'm excited to share it with you all!


	2. THE TWO SUNS

The dawn greeted them with a wave of heat that made him wonder how he could have even imagined it was cold the night before. Sweat clung to him in an instant, the canvas of his pants sticking to his legs. Heat so strong the cloak resting across his legs was suddenly far too hot to bear. 

Tatooine. Din glared up at the ceiling overhanging their shelter, taking a moment to get himself together before he decided to start the day. Sitting up was a monumental task. His body ached, his bones creaked. He felt old, worn out, tired despite a solid four marks of rest. From the cave entrance, he heard a sound and jerked his head up, blaster raising in an instant.

"Gah?" The child startled, dropping the rock he'd been holding and staring at the blaster with only mild alarm. Din grunted an apology, dropping the weapon and heaving himself into a more upright position so that he could lean back on the cave wall.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

The child waved him off, reaching for his rock once more, and then, of all things, he lifted it to his mouth to chew on. Fine, little white teeth ground into the brittle sandstone, making the child cough and sneeze.

"Drop that. I'll find us something to eat." Din commanded, Pointing at the rock and then towards the floor. He urged the baby to let it go with a glaring tilt of his helmet. He knocked his head against the rock behind it. How had his life come to this? The little thing scowled but did what he was told, releasing the stone with a clink.

Din reached up and dug his fingers into the only handhold he could find on the sandstone wall, then used that to heave himself upwards. His ribs protested, so did the rest of him. He felt like a mudhorn had plowed him over during the night. Every muscle group sang with pain all it's own. He ignored it, he usually did when it came to matters of the body. 

Stretching helped. A slow, limbering up of inflamed muscles. First one arm, then the other. He didn't dare twist. His chest ached like hellfire, but he managed to tighten up his bandages, adding extra support to his broken ribs. All the while, the child watched, patiently impatient, as always. 

"Alright, let's move." Snagging his disruptor rifle, Din leaned heavily on the barrel and used that for a crutch. He'd hoped to wait out the worst of the morning heat, but if the baby was eating rocks, something had to be done. They'd go out scavenging, maybe find something to eat or drink in the hellhole they currently resided.

He left his bags and heavier weaponry behind. There was no point in taking them. The suns were too high for any far distance traveling. Tatooine's heat would kill them before they made it four kilometers out of the cave. Besides, this spot seemed relatively safe. It would be a good place to sit for a couple of days and rest. Get his ankle back in order and take it easy on his injured chest. Maybe get the bounty hunters off their back. 

They would need to find food and water for that to work, though. 

"Come on, kid," Din urged, holstering his blaster and double-checking the rest of his gear to make sure it was secure. With the way his ankle had swollen, there wasn't a chance he'd get his boot back on. The bandages would have to do, for now. "Stick to the shadows, alright?"

Together they stepped out from their small hideaway. Din squinted from the sun's glare and peered around their surroundings as he considered their options. Most of the view was blockaded by one large hill that curved in an arch around the cave outlet. The suns were a furnace-like glow in the sky, the small one tracking after the larger. 

He'd give anything to be up in that sky, chasing hyperspace with a great leap into the dark unknown. He lived for the stars. Being planetside was such a task, sometimes. Too many people to keep an eye on and too many dangers lurking around every corner. Give him the tight confines of the Razor Crest any day over this hunk of junk planet.

It wasn't his fault. Mandalorian's were a solitary race, which he supposed was what got them to this point in the first place. Maybe if his people were easier to find, they wouldn't be wandering the desert, looking for one.

He walked on, shoulders bowed, head a throbbing mess. In the daytime, the desert looked significantly less barren. Scraggly plants stuck up here and there. Outcroppings of gypsum and granite plowed up from the earth and offered a small amount of respite from the sun. Even the air had a certain life to it, with the hum of locusts and dank beetles twittering.

The child followed after, seemingly less affected by the heat. His bright eyes were ever curious. The sound of his belly rumbling sent a dank beetle skittering across the sand. The child gave chase before tripping over the hem of his clothing and tumbling on his face. He rolled a good few feet. Din watched him tumble away and reaching out with his rifle, the usually deadly tines latching on to the collar of the child's shirt to pull him up short. 

"Careful." Underneath his helmet, Din grinned, shaking his head at the child's antics. He heaved him up by his collar, feet flailing in the air when the rifle carried him to safer ground. "You'll need to learn to be more cautious." The child dropped to the sand, his hands moving to steady himself, his teeth pinching his lower lip while he focused on not falling.

Din forced himself to look away. The child was endlessly fascinating. Trying to understand what was going on behind those jewel-like eyes could distract him for marks. Now wasn't the time. They had business to take care of.

A little recon wouldn't be out of the question. Just to make sure they were alone and wouldn't be ambushed. Up ahead, the sand had formed into a larger than average crest. If he were careful, he could climb to the top and get a good look at where they were. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but without his helmet working, they were lost. He hadn't had a chance to repair the damage yet, so he would need to get their bearings the traditional way, then figure out which direction to head once they got moving again.

It took longer than he would have preferred to climb up the dark side of the dune. The sun crept ever higher. The shadows became restless and shifted with every footstep. Beneath his feet, the sand displaced, pronouncing each staggering limp as he moved up across the dusty mound. When he was close enough to the top, he sunk to his knees, then to his belly so he could crawl the rest of the way up without making a walking target of himself. 

His body protested the movement, bones shifting, muscles spasming. He grimaced, dropping his head down to rest on one forearm and taking in a slow, steadying breath. After a moment, the pain settled into a grinding, dull agony. He dragged himself over the last few feet until he reached the crest of the dune and peered up over it.

The child's weight plopped down by his side, soft gasping breaths punctuating the silence between them.

"You alright, little one?" Din twisted, looking him over. Poor thing looked exhausted. This was far more walking than he was used to. Din regretted the loss of his pram. It had gone up in a blaze the night before, thanks to some idiot Bounty Hunter. Once again, he was struck by how green they'd been. A dozen idiotic newbies with no knowledge of the game. If they'd wanted to keep their mark alive, that hadn't been the way to do it. 

But here they were, pramless and lost in the middle of the damn desert. Din glanced up at the sun, where it hung high overhead. Did the little one's species sunburn? He wasn't sure. Best be on the safe side. Lifting the edge of his cloak, he made sure to drape it across that pale green forehead. Hiding the baby from the worst of the sun's rays. 

With the warmth of the child pressing against his side, he turned back to the task at hand. His rifle's scope would act well enough as a telescope. Din brought the butt end of the rifle to his shoulder. It settled there, comfortable and familiar. Eyes narrowed against the bright rays of the sun, he peered through the glass lens and out across the distance. 

At first, there was nothing but more rolling sand drifts and empty, hot desert. A kickup of dust drew his eye quickly enough, and Din turned the scope towards the disturbance, focusing in on a band of Tusken Raiders where they tended to their banthas. 

A quick calculation put the group far enough not to prove a threat. And besides that, for the most part, if Din left them alone, the Raiders would do the same. Resources in the desert were too limited to waste on chasing a lone gunman and his charge. He watched them for long enough to take note of the way they lounged about camp. Comfortable and relaxed. They weren't on the lookout for trouble, and they weren't looking to cause any either.

Scope flashing, Din turned it onward, seeking out any other disturbances in the dust. A herd of eopie plodded through the heat, probably just as hungry as Din was. But they were docile, nonaggressive. Their heads raised, the far-off buzz of a group of hoverbikes drawing the animal's attention. He followed the eopie's gaze and watched the bulky metal transports cruise over the rugged landscape. Too distant to worry about. They were traveling in the opposite direction of Din and the child. Heading over a sparse hill and disappearing behind it.

Shifting on his side, he pointed the gun to the right—nothing but sand and more sand. The signs of their scrambled race through the desert the night before were all but gone. Erased by the wind, swallowed up by the sand. 

There, he could see the rocking structure of an oil rig. It was far, but Din recalled passing it by the day before, on their journey through the desert. The wreckage of the child's pram was somewhere in that direction. Using that for a landmark, Din thought that maybe they were only a few miles off course. Somewhere on the outskirts of the Wastes. Thank the stars. That meant they had something of a chance of getting back out. 

A flicker of movement drew Din's attention towards a black spec. Din zoomed in closer, breathing in slow, shallow breathe to keep the sight steady. A lone rider and his dewback trudged along. Local, judging by the barely-there glimpse of brown clothing. They were too far for Din to see clearly but didn't carry the classic marks of a Bounty hunter. Distance-maybe 40 kilometers, or six marks away, if the dewback continued at its current pace. It was a significant enough distance that he might not be too concerned. Din worried anyway. 

Grunting his frustration, he peeled his eye from the scope and gave the whole area a once over. At least he had a general sense of direction now. Turning to face north, away from the rider, and back towards where those bikers had disappeared, he looked for landmarks that would give some bearing on where to go next.

There were no signs of larger cities. Especially not the town they were looking for. Mos Pelgo. Rumour had it the town was minuscule and barely surviving after all these years. For all Din knew, it could be sheltered in a valley, hidden from sight. The journey could be a few days or even a couple of weeks on foot. He just didn't know.

What he wouldn't give to have that speederbike back. 

Feeling slightly more oriented, Din dropped the rifle from his shoulder. They would head north, towards where that gang of hoverbikes had disappeared. It was probably a trap. He had a feeling the riders were Bounty Hunters. But it was a plan, and if Din preferred having a plan to having nothing. Resolved, he slid the strap of his rifle back over his shoulder and rolled over, so he was hidden behind the dune once more.

He had a mission. Get to Mos Pelgo. Find another Mandalorian.

Beside him, the child's stomach grumbled.

The mission would have to wait for now.

"Let's get you something to eat." Din offered, peeling the cloak from the child's face and gathering him up in his arms.

The suggestion proved more difficult than Din had anticipated. Despite marks of looking, there wasn't an ounce of food to be found. Even the beetles had gone silent under the sun's relentless rays. For the most part, he tried to stay in the shade, creeping from one shadow to the next. But even in the shadows, Din's cheeks felt hot like an oven under the beskar of his helmet. His hair was soaking and wet with perspiration. As was his shirt, rivulets of fluid dripped down his back. He smelled something awful. The baby agreed, his small nose wrinkled, where Din cradled him in the crook of his arm.

Finally giving up on finding anything substantial, Din settled beside a large overgrown plant. It looked like some form of cactus. Though the locals probably had a different name for it. The plant itself was a deep orange verging on red. Dozens of thick branches reached for the sky, most of which popped off from a greying twisted trunk. He'd heard somewhere that they were a decent source of water when left in a bind. At this point, he was willing to give anything a chance.

"Right. Let's see how this will work. Stay back. I don't want you poked." Din ordered, easing the baby to the ground, before he withdrew his knife, considering the spiny branches in front of him. His leather gloves didn't seem likely to withstand the long spines, so he scraped across the bark with the edge of his blade, shaving the spines off at the nub. 

When he was certain he could take hold of the branch without injuring himself, he switched to a longer blade and hacked through the thick limb. His grip proved to lose, and the reddish tuber fell to the ground. He scrambled to catch it, but to his surprise, it popped on impact, sending water gushing into the dry earth, where it evaporated in seconds.

"Dammit!" Din snarled, cursing under his breath in every language he knew. He sagged against his rifle, breathing in slow breaths to calm himself. He just had to try again, and this time be more careful. These plants were more fragile than they appeared.

At his feet, the baby rushed forward, reaching for the wet remnants of the cactus. Before Din had a chance to object, he slurped them up, sandy bits and all. He cooed, burping softly, his black eyes hunting around for more. Din raised an eyebrow. Kid had a stomach of beskar. "Fine, let's try this again."

He worked more carefully this time. Hacking off the spines and then cutting through the cactus' stalk at one of the thick, greying joints. He gripped it tight. There was no way he'd let this one fall. Almost immediately, water began to dribble out the cut end. He swung it around to face the baby, a couple of stray drops dribbling down onto his green head.

"Hurry, open up." Din urged, waiting for the baby to open his mouth. He did what he was told, his three fingers clutching at the plant so he could suck at it with great desperate gulps. It didn't take long for the baby to drain the branch off. Din didn't have the heart to take it and save some for himself. Instead, he let him finish it off and left the child to munch on the branch and back for another for himself.

When he finally did get to drink some, the water burst on his tongue like a decaying vegetable broth. Din choked, sputtering around the flavor, but managed to swallow the mouthful down. It was warm from the sun and only refreshing in that it took the desert silt from inside his mouth. He drank it anyway, sucking the much-needed hydration down, and reminded himself that he'd tasted much worse in his life.

Breathing through the urge to retch up his guts, he let his helmet fall over his face and glowered at the one cloud in the sky. 

"Could have warned me." He commented, wiping the back of his palm over his mouth when the urge diminished down to a minimum. The baby looked up from his mouthful of cactus, ears perking up at the sound of Din's voice. He seemed to like it. Of course, he did. This was a kid who regularly ate frogs in one bite. It probably tasted like dessert to him.

Despite his distaste for them, Din collected another four cactus logs and bundled them up in his cloak, cut side up, so the contents didn't spill everywhere. Other than the cactus, they'd wasted most of the day. The suns would set in a few marks. They'd need to get a fire set up before the temperatures dropped again. With that in mind, he followed their footsteps back towards the cave, limping across the hot sand with the child in one arm and the cactus in the other.

At first, he didn't catch the scent, his nose too overwhelmed by the smell of his own breath on cactus juice. Then the stench grew too strong to ignore. The pervasive musk of a large animal, the same smell that lingered in the cave. This time it was fresh, too fresh. 

Din jerked his head up, checking their surroundings. Too damn late. A bellowing roar sounded from the mouth of the cave, and from its depths, a hulking, dark-furred beast twisted its way into the light. Long fangs, sharp enough to pierce Din in two and swallow the baby whole, opened up over a gnawing pit of a mouth. 

"Guhh!" The baby warned, tensing against him.

Din stiffened, his knuckles tightening around the child's tiny waist. His arms were full, his gun out of reach. With no other recourse of action, his only choice was to toss the baby out of reach. He did just that, sending the child flying through the air to plop into a mound of sand a semi-safe distance away, the cactus following close behind. The baby shrieked out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a scream. At least someone was enjoying themselves. 

The beast lunged after the child, leaping the distance between them with one bound. Instead, it latched on to the cactus and Din's cloak, the branches bursting in its mouth. Din cursed his idiotic brain. Dropping his rifle, which had far too wide a blast radius and might injure the child, he scrambled at the holster at his waist. Lifting his blaster, he aimed it just in front of the creature and fired, the blast of light hitting the ground only feet from the kid. The animal skittered back, yowling its distress. It did what it was meant to do, distracting the beast long enough for Din to get in the way and draw its attention.

Large, glistening eyes trained on him. The rims were thick with puss, one eye swollen shut from infection. Some type of bear, maybe, if he discounted the numerous eyes and the legs that were just a little too long. It wuffled, the sound resonating so that the sand around it trembled and leapt into the air, hovering for half a second before falling to the ground.

Din stood still, assessing each twitch of its thick muscles as it stalked forward, it's multiple eyes locking onto its prey. The Mandolorian scowled behind his helmet, rolling his shoulders and lifting his blaster just as the creature unleashed a bellowing roar. Claws dug into the sand, and it launched itself towards Din. Din backed up, his ankle almost giving out, but held through sheer willpower. He squared his feet and aimed his weapon, point-blank at the furred head. The bear didn't make it but three meters before Din fired.

His shot flew true, spanning the short distance between them and hitting the beast dead on. It should have been a kill shot. One hit. Dead. Instead, the blast deflected, leaving behind a scrape and the white glint of skull. The creature, otherwise undamaged, just shook it's head, roaring in frustration and pawing at its face. Red blood dripped from the open wound. 

"Dammit." Din spun around and ran, limping fast as he could to escape. He shouted, waving a hand over his head to keep the bear's attention on him. He had to protect the child and get away from camp. At that moment, his pain didn't matter, just his directive, his quest. Protect the Child. 

This is the Way.

He scrambled up the side of the dune that surrounded their small cave, his hands digging for purchase in the sand. Behind him, the bear followed, large paws eating up the distance between them. Lungs heaving, Din leapt over onto the other side of the dune and let himself tumbled the rest of the way down. The sand propelled him downward, his descent followed by the cry of the beast giving chase. Din had only a glimpse of it when he spiraled downhill. Thick paws gaining ground, sharp white claws flashing. Close to close. The sound of its jaws snapping only inches behind urged Din on.

He had barely made it to his feet when a hard blow to his back sent him flying, his blaster flinging the other direction. Not for the first time, he found himself plowing into the sand, his helmet the only thing that stopped him from getting a mouthful of dirt. 

_Never can catch a damn break!_ Din groaned internally, heaving himself onto his forearms with clenched fists as his body protested the rough treatment. 

The bear howled—racing in for the kill. Forearms flexing, Din twisted, flipping on his back just in time to bring up his arm brace and block long, yellowing teeth from snapping through the soft skin of his neck. Saliva dripped onto his armor, thick fangs grated against beskar, his forearm squeezing under the pressure of the immense set of jaws. 

Din let out a shout, his head kicking back against the ground as he gritted through the pain. Thick, furred muscle bore down on him. His breath choked in his lungs. The sand hissed and compressed under their combined weight. Din could feel his body being swallowed up into the depths of Tatooine.

With a grunt of effort, he managed to bring up his knees and dig the rubber of his boot into the body above him. His bare foot hitched, swollen toes twisting in greasy fur. Shoving hard at the furred underbelly, he barely managed to budge it an inch. It didn't matter. It was enough. His free hand squeezed into the space between them, scrambling for a weapon. Something, anything. His fingers found a handle—his dagger. 

Paws dug and scrambled at his chest, seeking a way through all the leather and armor that protects Din's stomach. His armor is slick with spit, the paws scraping down wet beskar. Choking out a sound of pain, he managed to yank the blade free from the sheath. Flipping the handle in his palm, he gripped the hilt tight and drove it upwards, slamming the dagger home, aiming right between heaving ribs.

The beast hardly even noticed, rearing back and yanking Din with it by his forearm. He yelped, his shoulder threatened to dislocate. Then choked back a cry of pain when he was tossed like a damn bone. Twisting in midair, Din landed the best he could, his bad leg giving out, his knees following shortly after. Pain, blinding agony. Din tried to get up, but he was winded, breathless, and exhausted. His blaster was on the other side of the bear. The knife hilt stuck out from its side. Useless

A throaty, gurgling chuckle came from deep within those thick lungs, and the bear stalked toward him.

He was dead meat. Dead. Dead fracking dead. And for the life of him, he couldn't find the energy to care. 

Then he remembered.

The child... Din groaned, cursing his religion and everything in between. He struggled to his feet. Swaying in place, and brought up his fists. He must look a damn fool, but it was the only thing he had left.

The bear charged.

A shot rang out, sending the beast flying backward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Survival fic's are my LIFE. I love playing with this new fandom.


	3. THE RIDER

Din watched the great beast fly through the air from the power of the blast, its limbs twisting, an atrocious smell bellowing out of it with a burst of burnt fur. The heavy body landed with a whoomph, paws madly scrambling in the air before it regained its footing. The bear's eyes were wild and red with anger, lips raised in a snarl wide enough to snap Din's head from his neck. Bloody but unbeaten, it's left leg dangling by a shred. And it was angry, spitting mad, a growl rumbling from deep within its belly. It staggered upright to face him once more. 

What was the damn thing made of?

The air filled with a reverberating thrum. The rumble of something running. Din tilted his helmet only far enough away from the bear to look over his shoulder. Trying to split his attention between keeping an eye on the current threat and watching for whatever new danger this planet had decided to throw at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a dewback. It was careening through the otherwise empty landscape, plowing towards them. A rider balanced on its saddle, blaster pointed at the bear—not Din, thank the stars for that.

The bear snarled, swaying, blood dripped from it's torn shoulder, staining the sand a deep maroon where it leaked downward. Despite being injured, it didn't look like it was ready to back down. The crazed light in its eyes undimmed by pain. 

Din raised a hand towards the oncoming ranger, urging caution.

"Get out the way, offworlder!" The man shouted, ignoring Din's signal in favor of urging the dewback to attack. Caution be damned, apparently.

_Offworlder?_

"Offworlder?!" Din didn't have but a second to react before he had to spring out of the way as a wall of green scales blocked his vision. It was that or be crushed to death. The yodel of the dewback blasted against his eardrums. The reptile lunged from behind him, surprisingly agile, it launched itself at the beast, short, omnivorous teeth snapping at the thick coat of its fur. 

"Ya heard me. Heya!" The rider whooped, egging the dewback on with a holler. Din tumbled to the ground, catching a glimpse of red cloth, and a keen, vicious smile aimed in his direction as the lizard passed by. White teeth, a rough shaven jaw. Din disliked that smug face the second he laid on eyes on it.

_Cocky bastard._

Blaster fire rained into the air—the rider trying to scare the beast off, or maybe just poor aim. Either way, the animal hardly noticed. It was too busy leaping away from the thick forelegs of the dewback. They hissed and roared at each other, both snorting out their defiance. All went still—a standoff. The silence broken only by the sound of heavy breathing, his own, not the animals. Din swallowed, coughing on his dry throat. The bear burbled, its head jerking towards the sound. A dozen beady black eyes locked onto Din where he lie tossed in the dirt. 

With slow, cautious movements, Din eased himself onto his feet, lips twisted in a grimace behind the dark metal of his mask. The bear watched, that rumble in its chest growing with every second. Thick forelegs bunching, it launched itself at what it perceived as the weaker prey. Which, unlucky for Din, turned out to be the Mandalorian.

"Danke farrik!" Din scrambled back, dashing to the right and out of reach.

"No, you don't!" The rider was having none of it. He guided the dewback to attack. Almost barreling into Din in the process. Din corrected himself in time. Twisting away to watch the two animals meet with a grunt of displaced air and an updusting of sand so high that for a moment, he lost sight of them in the resulting scuffle. 

Dewback were normally passive creatures, yet, watching the large lizard twist and snap at the bear, Din wondered if the animal would get the upper hand. She had long talons to defend herself and used them viciously, swiping at the bear's face, then turning to whip her stubbed tail at it's injured side. The bear fought back brutally, snapping those long fangs at the lizard's neck—only the thickness of the dewback's scales preventing the pack animal from having her throat ripped out. They tussled, rearing up on back legs to meet in a bloody twist of flashing teeth and talons.

The dewback squawked in pain from the claws that dug into her side and caught on the load she was hauling. Packs and luggage went flying. The rider cursed, transferring his grip to the saddle horn. He was almost bucked off in the dewback's panic, only his tight hold keeping him from flying off when the lizard twisted and lashed out. The rider let out a yell, pointing his gun and firing at the bear. Again he missed his aim off thanks to the bucking of his steed. He was getting nowhere, and if he wasn't careful, the dewback would end up dead. Which was just about the worst outcome possible because then he'd be stuck with the idiot rider. 

Din heaved a sigh, glaring up at the sky for strength. He would take the distraction for what it was. First, he needed a weapon, though. Where the hell was his damn gun? Forcing his body into action, he spun about in a half-circle, searching for something, his blaster, a rock, anything to defend himself with. His eyes latched onto the barest hint of his blaster handle, hidden under scrambling paws and the clash of scaled feet. 

Barely thinking, he launched himself across the distance and dropped into a forward roll that took him under thunderous limbs. Desperate, he reached for the grip of his gun, fingers digging into the sand to find it. A heavy foot crushed down a second later, only the give of the sand stopping the bones of his hand from breaking under the weight. Din yelped, yanking his fingers free and cursing under his breath, before scrambling back in to make another go of it. 

"What are you doing, you idjit?!" Came a shriek from overhead, "You're gonna get yourself killed!" Din caught sight of a flop of dirt-silver hair as the man ducked down to peer at him. 

"Speak for yourself." Din snorted, grinning under his mask. The wooden handle slid into his grip, the hard edges notching against calloused fingers and leather glove with welcome familiarity. The grit of sand made the wood slippery in his grasp. Overhead the rider let out a shout, and Din looked up in time to watch the girth of his saddle tear under the bear's claws. The leather gave, the saddle twisted, and the rider went flying, crashing in among the boxes and bags that had dropped earlier. Even from his position under the fighting animals, Din could see it when the rider's head connected with the blunt corner of a stowing box. The crack of bone meeting metal loud enough to hear over the baying of the dewback. 

The rider didn't get back up. 

A large paw slammed down just inches away from his helmet, jolting him into action. Din rolled to the right. The two animals barreled overhead. He scrambled underneath their heaving bellies in a mad attempt to stop from being crushed. Evaded flailing claws with legs that cramped from exhaustion. Sweat pouring down his back, he used whatever agility he had left to keep himself from being trampled to death. 

Without a rider egging it on, the dewback was quickly losing the battle. It looked likely to run the first chance it got, and the battle was heading rapidly closer to the unconscious rider. The man would be trampled to death if they got any closer. Din cursed under his breath. This had to end, and fast, or they'd all be dead. Flipping onto his back as one giant black-furred paw descended, he reached for the back leg of the bear and latched on to it, arms and legs scrambling to get a grip on greasy fur and clinging to the beast when it reared back. There wasn't much time to think about what the hell he was doing. All he know was that the damn animal was practically indestructible from above.

So he aimed for below. Twisting at the waist, he reached above his and dug the muzzle of his gun into the thick undercoat. Muscles straining to keep himself attached, he pressed the blaster in tight against the soft belly of the bear and squeezed the trigger.

The bear's howl was enough to tell Din he'd hit true. Just in case he fired again, the sound of his blaster going off muffled against the weight of fur. That did it. Din could feel it in the way the bear swayed, that slow coming on of death, where the head and the body disconnected for only a moment before the mind caught on. He'd seen it dozens of times. That last blink before death came over a target. With a groaning stumble, the beast collapsed, legs giving out so suddenly Din choked when he was smothered under the black stinking weight of it. The bear's death rattle vibrated through his chest. It stank worse than the lavatory of the Razor Crest after a two-week haul. Din gagged, breathing shallow, short breaths through his mouth. Groaning, he released his hold on the creature, dropping to rest his head on the sand.

The thing weighed a ton. He dug the back of his helmet into the sand, moaning with annoyance, and gazed up at the greying sky, too exhausted to move. The humming haw of dank beetles picked up again, feeling the silence with their chittering calls. Something in the way they sang said that the danger was past. A quiet shuffling announced the dewback's arrival as it came to check on him, wuffling against his shoulder. It moaned mournfully, a thick, black tongue lapping across the visor to Din's helmet, leaving behind glops of spit. Din shoved at its large head, grunting in disgust. 

Fracking Tatooine. 

Pushing and shoving himself out from underneath the carcass, he came up short when the faulds of his armor caught on flappy skin and pulled. Silently he worked his fingers under his back and dug at the sand, heaving it away in small handfuls until he sank down for enough to put some room between himself and the bear. Wiggling his hips, he managed to release first one hip brace, then the next from beneath the bear's dead weight. The worst part was wrenching his injured leg from under the bear's bulk. He gritted his teeth through it and came out the other side mostly intact, if a little hairier than normal.

His chin flashed from under his helmet as he lifted it high enough to spit, his tongue dry and barely mustering up the fluids to cough up the bucket of sand he'd practically inhaled. He'd never felt so damn thirsty in his life, but he had other things to worry about, per usual. 

"Hey, are you alive?" Din called, more like croaked, to the rider. Reaching up, he took hold of a handful of fur and heaved himself upwards until he was on his feet. The rider stayed radio silent, only the agitated huff of the dewback answering his question.

"Great," Din walked around the carcass, leaning more heavily on it than he would like to admit. There he was. The rider. Sprawled out on the red sand, too long limbs twisted and awkward where he lay across the bulk of his packs. A large knot was already forming on his head. Din cocked a hip, favoring his bad leg and considering his options. The dewback wuffled, pressing its head between Din's shoulder blades when it trundled over. Din leaned back against its bony skull, the support offering some relief for his aching body. 

If he had a choice, he'd rather leave the rider there, with his dewback, get the kid, and get out of here—ASAP. He wasn't looking to be a hero today, and definitely not any more of a babysitter than he already was. This was an adult man. He'd be fine on his own. It wasn't anything but a knock to the head. Maybe he'd take a couple marks to recover.

"Right." He heaved off the lizard with a grunt and started heading up the dune, back toward the child. He had other priorities. A child to take care of. Food to find. Water to collect. 

Behind him, a soft moan broke the chittering of the dank beetles. Din stumbled, his feet tangling in a line of rope. He turned back, eyes watching the rider shift listlessly, a pained expression flashing against sharp features before they went still once more. 

A marshal's belt glinted at his waist. Din eyed the painted white and red belt buckle. New Republic. He glared at the piece of metal, cursing under his breath. Damn him and his hero complex. First the child, now this. Not that he had anything against the child. He'd die protecting the little one, but this was a step above and beyond his normal practices. He was a bounty hunter, not some kind of protector of the weak. 

Din snarled under his breath, bending down and snatching up the length of rope tangled around his feet. _What in the six galaxies am I doing?_ He asked himself, his wrist twisting the rope into long loops, he headed back towards the prone form of the unconscious man. 

"Come on." He tasked the dewback, urging it to follow him back towards the downed rider, his legs eating up the distance between them. "But you owe me." Din snapped at the man's unconscious form as he dropped to a knee beside long, gangly legs and looked down at the face of his would-be rescuer. Din's eyes were drawn to silvering hair, sharp gunmetal grey, with hints of dark blond peppering through it. His sun-touched skin glistened with sweat and the starts of a sunburn on the crown of his forehead. At the corners of each eye were the gentle beginning of crows feet, laugh lines maybe. They made him look younger than the silver hair let on. 

He looked completely defenseless. 

Just in case he confiscated the man's blaster. Better safe than sorry. Slipping it from limp fingers, he double-checked the safety before tucking the metal barrel into the back of his trousers.

He supposed he should check for injuries. Lifting his gloved hand to his mouth, Din and tugged the fitted leather-free with his teeth. The summer heat hit his skin, leaving him with an uncomfortable feeling of vulnerability. But he needed to feel for this, and that wasn't going to happen with a layer of leather between his skin and the riders. 

Din ran his fingers over each limb, checking for injuries? With sharp, impersonal movements, long fingers moved down one leg and up the other. No broken bones that he could find. Hands shifting, he followed the hard lines of muscular biceps down to boney wrists. They were intact, though a sharp gash marred his right arm, red blood dripping sluggishly from the wound. Din twisted the limb, examining the open wound with a clinical eye. It wasn't deep, but the injury would need to be cleaned. He wasn't going to be the one to do it, though.

Moving on, Din slipped his fingers underneath the red bandana on the man's neck. The feel of skin against skin was strange. He was warm and sweaty, his skin slightly damp under the fabric. Din couldn't recall the last time he'd touched another living thing other than the child. He didn't like that his hands trembled with uncertainty. Pushing back his discomfort, he shifted questing fingertips, seeking anything out of place. A broken vertebra, a dented skull, he wasn't a doctor, but Din knew enough about patching up injuries to know what to look for. His neck seemed uninjured, no spinal damage. Just an ugly knock to the head. That was a relief, Din supposed. One less corpse to bury. 

He wiped his palm on his pant and heaved back onto his feet, motioning the dewback closer after he replaced his glove. The beast was trembling, big eyes watching the bear's corpse for any sign of movement. Poor thing. Din gave her a pat on the head, his discomfort with animals long gone ever since those weeks spent with Kuill and his blurrgs. 

Kuill would be proud, in his own, gruff way.

"Shh..." Din whispered, helmet thunking against one wide flank, his glove catching on soft scales, he soothed the poor animal. He wasn't willing to admit it, but his heart was heavy with the memory of his lost friend. That had only been a few weeks ago, though he'd tried to put such memories behind him. Kuill was one among many that he had lost. He'd get past it, but for now, his heart ached. Forcing the overwhelming grief down was a monumental task when he was so exhausted. Din tried to focus on the animal in front of him instead. She was favoring her leg but wasn't visibly uninjured. Slowly her agitated shuffling calmed under Din's attentions, the rapid beat to his own heart and the stinging in his eyes diminished with it. 

"That's it." Din gave her one more pat before swinging the rope over her neck and hitching it across her neck plate. Tugging at the lead, he guided her back to the unconscious man, grateful for the mask of his helmet.

He was doing this, wasn't he? Saving a damn stranger without a credit in sight. What if that belt buckle wasn't even real? What if he proved to be another bounty hunter, out to get them? Din was being sentimental, a fool. Sentiment got people killed out here. Hopefully, it wouldn't bite him in the ass like so many of his decisions had of recent.

Once he was close enough, he reached out to wrap a fist into the man's shirt collar, hauling him into a sitting position. Limp and out of it as he was, his head lulled back on his neck, cracking ominously. A groan of protest left his lips. Din caught sight of brown eyes under eyelids that fluttered listlessly.

It was a task not worth thinking about, to heave the unconscious man up onto the back of the dewback. He was heavy and nothing but long, awkward limbs that kept getting in the way. He was also taller than Din and maybe a couple stones heavier, despite his gangly appearance. Din barely managed it, his ribs protesting the whole time while he pushed and shoved until the man finally draped over the boney back of the dewback. The animal was well trained. She held steady despite Din's frustrated attempts at pushing the taller man onto her back.

In response to his help, all he received was a deep belly groan when the bulk of the rider's torso settled onto the knobby ridge of the dewback's spine. Dewback had notoriously hard bones, which was why that saddle would have come in handy. It rested on the ground, belt in tatters so that it wouldn't prove of much use. With a final grunt of effort, the rider's center of gravity eased over the hump in the middle of the lizard's back. When Din released his grip on the rider's legs, he stayed there. 

All this was taking too long. Stepping back, Din couldn't help but look to the south, where the camp and the child waited for him. Din needed to hurry to make sure the young one was safe. There was no telling what was going on, on the other side of the dune. Without the child in his sight, there were always other dangers that could befall him. And even if all was well, he still had to find the poor thing something to eat and drink. The cactus drinks they'd foraged were probably ruined. Stoic as he looked, Din's chest was tight with worry, anxiety making his hands sloppily while he set to hogtying the rider with the rope he'd collected. The twine wrapped sharp and ragged in his hands, splintering from old age. 

It was only when he reached for his blade (and remembered it was in the bear's side) that he had an idea. Heaving a sigh of relief, Din moved over and eyed the carcass of the downed beast.

That would do. 

The bottle of spotchka laying on the ground next to it would do even better.

* * *

They crested the top of the dune, the dewback dragging the bear's corpse behind her and the rider on top. Din was at her side, guiding her with the halter that was still around her head. Reaching the top, Din's first thought was for the child. Dropping the dewback's lead, he skidded down the sandy hillside, sliding on his rump down the hill. His foot thanking him for taking his weight off it. Trusting the animal to continue to follow him, he limped towards the broken ridge of rock where he'd tossed the child earlier. To his relief, a set of sharp pointed ears poked out from over the top of a sand heap, followed shortly after by an inquisitive sound. Familiar large black eyes peered out at him.

Din caught his breath, trying not to look too frantic, but the child was a welcome sight. He watched the little one look around before cautiously crawling further out of hiding. Din nodded his approval. Being cautious was always a good idea. 

"Coast is clear," Din called, glancing back behind him at the noise of the dewback's final descent. He watched the body of the bear take a rolling tumble downward, coming to a stop only feet away. The baby starred, ears quivering, his lips twisted in a frown. Struggling to get his feet under him, he stumbled down the embankment towards Din. He looked annoyed— no doubt from being tossed to the side and then left behind.

"Don't give me that look." Din wouldn't apologize for keeping the child safe. It was what he had been quested to do. And sometimes, safe wasn't always comfortable. Sometimes safe meant you got chucked through the air and out of the line of danger. Dropping carefully to his knees beside the child, he gathered him up, unable to help some jolt of instinct that demanded he check the boy for injuries. 

"Come here," He commanded. He needed to make sure the child was alright. Unfamiliar emotions bubbling up when small fingers clutched at the metal of his chest plate, a fuzzy head tickling against the bare skin of his neck when the child press in against his chest. The child shook, despite his annoyed expression, making a soft sound of discomfort. He was scared.

"Hmm...." Din closed his eyes, tilting his head until the bottom of his chin rested on top of the child's head. He was so warm, the weight of him familiar and comforting now, after the months of being together. "We're fine." Din croaked, closing his eyes against the beating sun. 

"And look...we have dinner."

Together they turned, examining the dirty corpse of the beast. It seemed a fitting end, for all the trouble the animal had caused them. They stood, Din not eager to get to moving again. But if he rested now, he knew he wouldn't get back up. Not with the way he was feeling. Which was closer to minced meat than anything. Yet, Din knew his own limitations. His body was a well-honed instrument that he'd developed over many years. Even if it didn't feel like it, he still had energy left. He'd finish up here, and then he'd sit.

Easing the child to the ground, he got to work. The dewback wuffled a greeting when he walked over, sedately nuzzling the ground with her blunt nose. Din gave her a pat on his way over to the hogtied rider, his blade slipping free from its sheath. He cut through the bindings holding the man in place, barely paying attention as his body slid to the ground with a plop of sound. 

The child eyed the man curiously, gurgling an intrigued sound and gazing with those black eyes of his. He didn't seem to miss much of anything, though Din couldn't help but wonder what was going through that little head of his, how much he understood.

He left the rider where he landed, hutting a soft command at the dewback to send her plodding forward. He _was_ careful to avoid letting the man get trampled but otherwise disregarded him. The bear pulled along after by the length of rope wrapped around its forelegs. The rope strained tight where it was attached to the dewback. She had done a good job of hauling the dead animal and whatever else Din had scavenged from the rider's packs. Mostly a couple bottles of spotchka and some grain bars. He'd left the bulk of it on the other side of the dune. If the rider wanted his things, he could get them himself.

After all, Din had dinner to cook and a bear to butcher.

The bloody, dirty work of gutting and skinning his kill was left to him. He was initially worried that he might have hit an organ, thanks to the growing smell, but no the insides just proved to be smelly as the outside. Closer inspection showed that all the organs were intact, a good thing when it came to butchering since the meat couldn't be eaten if it was contaminated. The blaster fire had plowed through the lungs and on past, actually grazing the heart, which was probably what had done the bear in, in the end. It didn't take long for the carrion birds to fly above, watching, waiting for an opportunity to sneak some scraps. 

He would need to set a fire outside of the cave tonight or risk having the other creatures of Tatooine come into their shelter searching for food. They might not be so fortunate if another one of those things decided they'd make a nice snack. One thing was certain. Din wasn't going to be sleeping much that night. Even now, he kept his disruptor rifle close, the two blasters a welcome weight at his hips.

By the time he was done, he was sweaty and filthy beyond measure. Coughing around the ache in his chest, he leaned back to look at his work. He'd sectioned the beast up into smaller portions. With any luck, they'd have a good meal and dry some up for future rations. There would be a lot of waste, but even now, the dewback was eyeing the carcass with interest. She might save the mess, depending on her appetite.

"What do you think?" 

The baby didn't answer. He had retreated into the cool of the cave. Din could hear him shuffling around inside, probably still fussing over the getting tossed around a bit. The rider was still unconscious, laying across the way where Din had left him. The wind had started blowing a few marks before, and his legs were already being swallowed by the sand that blew through their small hideaway. 

Din was filthy. Nothing but blood and dust, his armor stained with red. What little skin he allowed to show was black and blue with bruises. Basically, he looked like something a blarrg crapped out. Taking up a handful of sand, Din scrubbed his hands with it, hoping to remove some of the blood from his skin. He managed, for the most part, to look semi-presentable. Though he wasn't too worried, considering the present company. Besides, the rider didn't look a nitch cleaner than him. 

It took twice as long to start a fire then it had the night before. He was down to only two flares and didn't want to waste them when he had a perfectly good flint. Din tossed some of the old brittle wood from inside the cave into a pile. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he figured the pile of wood had probably been a nest of some sort for the bear. Either way, he was grateful for it since he hadn't seen anything close to a tree for miles. Stacking the wood up was boring work. He'd done it dozens of times. In the hopes that the fire wouldn't draw any more visitors, Din built the sand up around the wood to make a pit. With any luck, that would block the wind and hide the flames from sight.

By the time the fire was finally lit, his stomach was practically in his throat. He felt weak and dizzy from heatstroke but wasn't ready to give in to the call of sleep. He paused to suck down a gulp or two of spotchka. It helped, the liquid seeping down his throat and rolling around in his belly. Eating would help alleviate that hollow feeling. Maybe it'd even ease some of that rolling tension from the cactus water still burbling away in his gut. 

Finally, the fire was going hot, bright fluorescent flames leaping greedily across the dry wood. The flames flashed green every once and while when they hit pockets of minerals in the wood.

They settled down together under the rays of the setting sun. The child perched on his bag and Din slumped across the grimy cloth of his cloak, the fabric still damp from when the cactus stalks had burst. He couldn't bring himself to care. Neither one of them was eager to sit in the sand. Din had grains of the stuff in places where the sun didn't shine.

Stars, he needed a shower, or at least an air wash.

The child sat beside him, holding his stick of meat out over the fire and watching it crisp up with large, hungry eyes. Din was doing much the same. The sizzle of fat dripping onto the fire enough to get his mouth-watering. The rider was still exactly where Din had dropped him, face now truly red from the sun. He'd have one hell of a sunburn come morning. His lower torse was now fully covered by the shifting sands. He was becoming one with the desert. 

"Don't forget to turn it, or it'll burn," Din warned, twisting his stick. The child mimicked him, swaying where he sat on the backpack. He was dirt covered too, just as filthy as Din, if not worse because Din had neglected to wash his clothes before they'd left on this little misadventure.

Stars, he was terrible at this whole parenting thing. He'd _thrown_ a _baby_ for Manda's sake! 

Yeah, maybe that was bugging him a little bit more than he'd let on. 

The fire crackled pleasantly. The air, for now, was exactly right. Neither too hot nor too cold as night descended over them. He tossed another log on the fire, grimacing when his ankle protested the movement, throbbing to the beat of his heart. 

When the meat was significantly more crispy than it'd started, they sat to eat, a small pile of cooked bits resting on a rock between them. The baby gobbled up a hunk of gristle, gurgling those soft sounds of his while he chewed.

Feeling particularly ravenous, Din didn't even bother waiting for it to cool. He cut his meat down to manageable sized pieces and popped them under his helmet. Hot! He puffed around the piece of meat to cool it down, chewing carefully. It tasted like fragging nirvana. A little gamey, with a hint of charcoal, but he could care less. He scarfed down the next bite. Table manners be damned. The sound of the dewback snorting drew his attention. Even she was eating her fill, gorging on the ragged remains of the bear, pausing only occasionally to look around the dimming desert—on guard. Din appreciated the extra set of eyes.

Feeling human for the first time in days, Din leaned back, his helmet reflecting the flickering light of the fire. He looked out over the darkening sky, content to relax and enjoy the break. 

The highest sun's final rays crept down past the dune, sending the sky into flamboyant colors of purple and orange, blue and pink. It was the most color Din had seen all day. His eyes reveled in it, turning his face up to the sky, he let his beskar soak it up. Looking down, the child was watching him; head cocked to the side. For once, Din thought it might go the other way around, and it was the child that was wondering what he was thinking. 

"We're going to be alright," Din whispered, taking another piece of meat and chewing on it. This was one of the good times. Those didn't last long for the two of them, but he'd take it. The child nodded, mimicking his movements and chewing quietly on his meat, fat dripping down his chin. Din couldn't bring himself to correct the kid. There'd be time for that later when they weren't in survival mode. 

A grunt made its way from the other side of the fire. Din sat up, watching. The rider groaned, reaching for his head, then for the blaster missing from his side.

Slowly Din reached for his blaster, eyes narrowing, food forgotten. Finally, his current predicament seemed to set in. With a jolt of dust, the man sat upright, sputtering as sand spilled down from the top of his head. 

He was silent for only a moment.

"What in the ever bloody loving _frack_ is going on?!" The man croaked, looking around their campsite with confused eyes. "And who the hell are you?!" 

Din drew his blaster, aiming it across the fire and right between dark brown eyes.

"You first." He demanded, armor glinting menacingly in the twilight. The rider's eyes narrowed, his already thin lips tightening down into a grimace of consideration. Silence reigned between them until the man got a good look at the weapon between the two of them.

"That's my blaster, you asshat!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The number of nameless people/creatures in this chapter. Oh boy...my brain hurts. Anyhoodle, comment if you would, kudo if you could! Bookmark if you dare!


	4. THE MARSHAL

"That's my spotchka, too!" The stranger croaked, apparently unable to stop himself from voicing the obvious out loud. He must have some form of self-preservation because he raised his hands to show he was unarmed a moment later.

Din was looking at an idiot; that was the first thing that came to mind. Behind his helmet, his face twisted into an expression of consternation. Did this guy want to get shot? Despite his confusion, Din's aim remained unwavering where it pointed the man's gun between his eyes. Feeling particularly spiteful, he reached for the bottle of spotchka. Lifting the thin bottleneck and tucking it under his helmet to take a long, drawn-out swallow. He was practically daring the man to react. A quick kill would be easiest in this situation. Then he and the child could take the dewback and go.

The stranger watched him gulp the liquid down with open disgust. He turned his head away, fighting the urge to say something or maybe just look around. Quietly he observed their makeshift camp, eyes flashing between Din and the child, and then back to the bottle of spotchka. What he saw, Din wasn't sure. An injured Mandolorian and his child? A couple of easy marks? Not a chance.

"At least give a man a drink?" The stranger questioned, holding his arm out for the bottle. Din grunted, glancing toward the child, whose only opinion was for the food he was currently gnawing on. "Come on, Mando, I feel like I've been cooked from the inside out."

Relenting, Din held the bottle out, his hand hovering to the right of the fire, far away from the flickering heat. With a cough of relief, the stranger reached out, his skin dusty in the poor light. At the last minute, Din withdrew the glass, holding it slightly out of his reach.

"Who are you?" Din probed, the metal of his helmet glinting. His expression unreadable, per usual. Considering the circumstances, he was grateful for it since, at the moment, he was thinking of a dozen different scenarios on how to get out of here if the man decided to become a problem. If he tried anything, he wouldn't be one for long.

"Not sure that's any of your business." The man groused, making a face at the child. Who, of all things, giggled, a soft, unfamiliar sound, but certainly a giggle. Din furrowed his brow in confusion, glancing at the child. What in the frack?

"Don't look at him," Din ordered, forcing the stranger's attention back on him and away from his vulnerable charge. He ignored the flicker of jealousy in his gut in favor of getting some answers. "Is that real?" Din asked the more important question, pointing the barrel of the gun towards the Marshal's belt that glinted at his waist, were painted white and red splashed across his belt buckle.

"Hey, don't give me that tarp. I'm the one that saved you!" The Rider spit, his lips drawing up in offense. His dewback made a wuffling sound, from where it stood by the dead bear's carcass before leaving off from its feast to wander closer. One tan hand reached out, giving it a pat on its snout, his other hand still held up in surrender.

"And I saved you, so we're even. Now tell me if that belt is real or not."

"It's real, for frack's sake. Who'd wanna play Marshal? It's a shit job, filled with people like you. Goddamn off-worlders." With a forward lunge, he snatched the bottle of spotchka from Din's hand, his nose wrinkled in disgust. Din didn't bother fighting him off, releasing the drink to settle back down on the fabric of his cloak. He could relax slightly, with the revelation that he was in moderately better company than, say, a bandit. Din settled the blaster down at his side, far out of reach. If this man _was_ a Marshal, then the only threat he posed was being a bigot. It wasn't much, but at least he could be assured that the man was working on the right side of the law. His ribs strained, flaring up with an aggressive roll of pain when he dropped down. Din grimaced through the pain, one hand supporting his bandaged chest until he was comfortable enough. 

"You lot are always so damn...demanding. Just cause you're from some podunk galaxy 'far far away' doesn't mean nothing in these parts."

"I didn't know people still held those sort of prejudices on Tatooine." Din considered the Marshal's words, letting the tense situation ease into more everyday conversation. He watched the lip of the bottle hit the Marshal's mouth, his throat working while he glugged down a rapid gulp of the blue fluid. Most people were open to off-world travel. The money and good it brought were usually beneficial to all.

"Well, off-worlder," the man snapped around the stem of the bottle. "I've seen plenty of your kind. You lot bring in nothing but trouble. Case in point, what'd you do, leave me in the sun all day?" He asked, dropping the drink when he'd had his fill. He pressed a palm to the top of his sun-burnt forehead.

Din grunted, neither agreeing or disagreeing with the statement but tired of talking.

At the Marshal's side, the dewback sighed, plopping down onto the ground behind the Marshal and blowing her lips with a contented sigh. The Marshal settled against her girth, his shoulders leaning against her food round belly. She had poor taste, of that Din was certain.

"My speeder bike took a turn for the worse in Mos Eisley." The Marshal finally spoke up, seeming eager to break the silence, even if Din wasn't much of a conversationalist. "Had to rent this beast or be stuck for a week waiting on the parts, and then another while they made repairs. Then I got a callout on the comlink that a couple of bodies were found out on Taver's Roll. That's the big set of white hills back southeast of here. There seems to be a group of bounty hunters prowling about." Din blinked, barely twitching at the news.

"Interesting." He murmured, leaning forward to stir the fire. Din considered his words, and like that, the silence between the two of them grew into something volatile once more.

"Mmmhmm." The Marshal hummed his agreement, "Wouldn't happen to know anythin' about that, would ya?" His face lit up by the fire. He leaned forward, sharp, rounded cheekbones in contrast with his shrewd, dark eyes. Maybe not such an idiot after all. The Marshal wasn't oblivious. He seemed to know something was afoot. He'd probably considered Din's involvement with the bounty hunters well before saying his suspicions out loud. His fingers flickered, fluttering at his waist, where his empty holster rested. Din watched him falter, his eyes darting down to the blaster in Din's hands. For a brief moment, Din saw the flash of a calculation, a fighter's intelligence hidden underneath that oblivious facade.

Could he get to the gun before Din fired?

The answer was, unequivocally, no. He must have felt it in his bones. The Marshal broke the growing tension with a chuckle, and the tenacious expression vanished, his face disappearing behind the bottle of spotchka. He chugged a dip swig, his adam's apple bobbing, the drink sloshing down his chin in blue rivulets.

"Right, didn't think so," He muttered, his words barely audible against the popping crackle of the firewood. His eyes lingered in the child where he sat on the pack. An icy wind stuttered through the valley, twisting the flames into a flurry of light. "You know, I've never met a real Mandalorian." He observed, sucking the remnants of drink from his lower lip. Whatever tension between them was seemingly forgotten. Survival of the smartest. The Marshal knew how to play his cards.

"Not many have," Din admitted, following the Marshal's gaze. The child was gnawing on the last bit of cooked meat. The sticks were tossed to the ground beside him, empty but for the brown smear of juices. Din sighed. He hadn't had but the singular piece. The child's appetite was incessant. Not that they didn't have more than enough, he'd just have to cook it. He didn't feel much like cooking anymore.

"Hey, we were sharing that." Din admonished, picking up the slightly burnt sticks and shaking the sand off. The baby looked at him, unchastised. Din couldn't bring himself to further reprimand him, not with that hungry look on his face. Someday, Din would grow immune to those bigs eyes, but that wasn't today.

"I've heard stories. But somehow, I never expected your lot had children." The Marshal admitted off-handedly, though it didn't seem like he expected an answer. Din didn't offer one. He wasn't much interested in thinking about the intricacies of being a Mandalorian. Instead, his eyes and mind were trained elsewhere.

Specifically on the Marshal. Behind the mask of his helmet, he had the freedom to examine the other man, this time without the weight of his concern for the child's safety weighing on his shoulders. This close, Din could see the silver lining the Marshal's hair. Almost metallic, rather than grey. It gave him an aged look that didn't match the mischievous gleam to his eyes or the unlined planes of his face. He couldn't be but a few years younger than Din himself.

"Looking around, I figure only one of us is walking out of here." He jerked his chin in the direction of the desert beyond, shrugging one shoulder absently. "And now I see the little guy, and I think maybe I got you wrong?" Tan fingers hook into the handle of the spotchka, offering it back to Din.

"He's seen worse." Din accepted it, smirking into the bottle, he swallowed a mouthful. The likelihood of him killing a Marshall was close to zero, but Din didn't need him to know that. He also didn't deny that the child was his. They'd been through so much together, and in the most selfish part of his heart, he'd already laid claim to the child. Not that he would say it plainly, to say so out loud would mean admitting he had an attachment to the little one. And that would be devastating when the time came to leave the child with his people and complete his mandate. Din gulped down another swig, closing his eyes to banish the thought. The alcohol settled into his belly, a warm burn that chased away some of the pain and made everything feel slightly fuzzy. It felt good. He wouldn't normally drink so much, but this was the only fluid around unless he wanted to eat more cactus. 

"You live up to the rumors, Mando." The Marshal admired, unaware of Din's dark thoughts. "Never seen anyone take on a sandbear and live before. Day of firsts, I guess." He raised one silver-toned eyebrow, his mouth twisting into a lopsided grin. There was a soft little divot in his cheek, a dimple, or a wrinkle. A slight mark that said the man was used to smiling, despite his current sour disposition. He was...intriguing, and not in a way that Din was familiar with. Ignoring that wayward thought, Din set to breaking down some more meat, skewering it onto his stick. Feeling torn, he considered offering the Marshal some. Din's stomach was smaller than his eyes, and he knew they wouldn't be able to eat everything. Din already had some of it drying on the hot rocks by the fire for future rations. They wouldn't starve any time soon. He imagined sharing a little wouldn't hurt.

Reluctantly he held out the skewer, offering it out over the flames for the Marshal to take. Surprised, the other man glanced between him and the meat stick, his expression suspicious.

"You managed to kill it then? Last I remember, you were playing scoot and dash under Lulabell." He admitted, accepting the stick and turning his attention to holding it over the flames. Stars, he was chatty. Even Lulabell looked slightly mortified, her tawny eyes rolling before she closed them and heaved a sigh, settled in for the night. As for Din? He hadn't spoken so much in what felt like months. He'd been spending so much time with the child on the Razor Crest, words felt strange. Not that he used them often.

"So..." The Marshal turned his attentions to the fire, soaking up the heat with a full-body shudder. "What are two off-worlders doing on Tatooine?"

"Traveling," Din answered. Short sweet, to the point. He wasn't going to give away too much of their mission.

In front of them, the fire was dimming, dropping down to low flickering flames and tired, red coals. Getting the Marshal's attention with a shift of the head, he jerked his chin towards the extra logs he'd set beside the fire, the jerk of his helmet indicating what he wanted. The Marshal looked between the fire, and Din, grunting a sound of annoyance before he got up. Long, straggly legs trembled slightly, but he stayed upright and snatched up a log, turning to toss it over the fire.

"No need to get up, I've got it," He drawled, scowling down at the Mandolorian. Din grunted, tapping his fingers against the barrel of his blaster. He stayed where he was. He had no intention of getting up anyway. Getting up would draw attention to his ankle. Getting up would hurt. And dammit, if he wasn't already exhausted. His eyes felt gritty with it.

Beside him, the child burbled, calling Din's attention toward him. Din turned to the sound and watched the child crawled from his post on the bag, his little feet waving in the air before he heaved himself down the ground. With a soft hup, and a gasp of surprise when his feet finally hit the sand, he bumbled his way over on his unsteady legs.

He came closer. Din watched each of his struggling steps, a silent guardian. He didn't offer to help, even though he might seem uncaring. The truth was, he'd made it a silent agreement between the two of them to let the child do most things on his own. The child was incredibly agile, yet he had suffered, being cooped up and neglected in that pram for who knows how long. He still looked at everything with the stunned dismay of a prisoner. Or maybe Din was confusing it with the wonder every child has. In all likelihood, it was a mixture of both. And while the child's stumbling steps might be the norm for a being his age, Din was more inclined to believe he'd just never been allowed to play and stretch. It made Din's heart bitter with rage.

There were so many unknowns when it came to the little one. He still doesn't know who had been the first to kidnap him and take him away from his people. Was Moff Gideon just the most recent in a long line of people vying for the child's blood and powers? Whoever it was, Din would find them, eventually, and they'd know the revenge of a Mandalorian. Din didn't say any of his thoughts out loud. He never did. Instead, he waited for the child to draw near. Bright eyes flickering in the firelight until the little thing reached him and clung to his sprawled leg for support. Din reached out instinctively, brushing his gloved hand down that now-familiar face and letting his gloved fingers linger in a gentle caress over one large ear.

"What do you want?" He questioned. Knowing from experience that his voice sounded hollow, emotionless, through the heavy veil of beskar between them. The child didn't seem to mind. They understood each other in a way that transcended words. The child reached for the bottle of spotchka, whining under his breath.

"No, that's not for you." Din snatched it away, screwing the cap back on and shifting it out of reach, to the bemusement of the Marshal. He laughed because he did not know that it was best to use caution around the child. If Din left him to it, he'd drink the whole bottle out of spite. Unfortunately, Din didn't have anything to substitute it with. The cactus juice was ruined; what was left of them had evaporated into his pants.

"I've got water in my other packs." The Marshal murmured, dropping back down to his spot by the fire, his hands held out towards the warmth. Din considered his options, he wasn't sure how to feel about owing the man more, but the relief he felt on hearing that was profound. "Where...where are they anyway?" The other man asked after a moment, looking around the mostly empty camp.

"Over the dune."

"What?!" The Marshal squawked, looking around in disbelief before jolting to his feet. Din reached for his blaster on instinct. His hand paused just short of snatching up the handle. The Marshal wasn't looking for retaliation. Instead, he ran for the hill to the left, scrambling up it, the sand skidded from under his feet in his haste.

"Marshal?" Din called, stopping him in his tracks.

"What? I have goods for my town in those packs!" The Marshal snapped, falling to his knees when he lost his footing, one hand clutching the back of his, no doubt aching, head.

"Not that way." Din corrected him, pointing in front of himself, towards the much larger dune the Marshal had been resting on for the better portion of the day. "Over there."

"Mother of Sarlacc. Really?" He twisted around to see, landing on his butt and glaring up at the high expanse of the dune. The moonlight barely glinted over its summit. The darkness played tricks on the eye, making it look like a much longer journey than it already was.

"Yes."

"Oh, thank you, man of little words." Sarcasm rolled off his tongue, like water off a nark's back. Slapping his palms together, he struggled back to his feet and tutted at Lulabelle. Din chuckled, smiling under his helmet, though he wasn't sure why. There was something about the man.

"I can hear the cackle in your voice, Mando." The Marshal growled, pulling at the rope hanging from the dewback's neck. Din tried to look innocent and picked idly at the bear fur caught in the fibers of his shirt, sharing a look with the child. The child reached for him. He looked impatient for a drink, his lips smacking together, his tongue sticking out to try and moisten them.

"Patience, Little One. He'll have a drink for you when he gets back." Din murmured, his voice low enough so that prying ears wouldn't hear his words.

"Come on, girl, the job's not done yet." The Marshal urged his dewback before turning to look at Din. "I'm coming back, don't you let my meat burn, you hear me?" He snarled at Din, pointing one sharp finger in Din's direction. Din grunted his agreement, watching in a semi-amused state. The Marshal hauled himself up onto Lulabelle, hissing when his butt connected with her dorsal spines. Protesting with a grumbling bellow, Lulabelle hauled the two of them up the ridge, her claws well adapted to moving over the rough terrain. The Marshal and his beast moved slowly, but eventually, the two crested the top and faded into the night. Din watched them go waiting until they disappeared from sight before slumping with a groan of relief. Lulabelle's disgruntled yodeling resounded through the darkness. She was telling him her exact opinions of moving after dark. With any luck, she'd give a warning when they began their journey back.

"Danke Farrik." He croaked, clutching his aching side, the movement making his side yowl in agony. Stars, he hurt. It was harder than he liked to admit to put up a front and feign good health. Not when his body felt like it was liable to fall apart at the seams if the wind blew wrong. Kicking out his good leg, he stretched it with a slow, drawn-out pull of muscles. His bad one throbbed in time with his heartbeat. After a moment of just resting, he forced himself to move. He had bandages to change. The Marshal and his dewback be gone long enough to do something about it. They were digging through the sand in the dark, and the idiot hadn't thought to grab a torch. That lapse in forethought would give Din plenty of time to work.

Snatching up the bottle of spotchka, Din unscrewed the cap and gulped down a good couple of swallows, choking on the liquid burning its way down to his belly. This needed something to take the edge off, and he was far enough down the rabbit hole of inebriation not to think it was a bad idea. With careful, shaking movements, he eased his foot from under cover of his cloak where he had tucked it underneath the fabric. It'd been self-defense at that point, an attempt to hide the weakness from sight when he wasn't sure if he was among enemy or ally. Manipulating the injured limb, he set to unravel the bandages, even that felt like a monumental task, with his back and ribs straining, every muscle protesting the forward movement. His fingers picked at the knot gathered at his ankle, and the bending came undone.

The child watched him for a moment, but Din bandaging himself up wasn't exactly new or exciting, so instead, he made his way back over to the pack, his feet leaving behind the barest of imprints in the sand. Out of the corner of his eye, Din could see him shuffling through the bag, hunting for something. He came up with the Razor Crests gearshift. Din chuckled under his breath. The bit of metal provided the child with endless hours of fascination.

"Don't lose that. The sand will swallow it whole out here." Din ordered absently. The child cooed softly in response, his attentions already enraptured by his toy. Din turned back to his task, gingerly pressing around the swollen flesh, checking for further damage. His foot was a stiff, swollen mess of flesh, very similar in looks to what he'd seen that morning. By the looks of it, Din couldn't help but worry that he might have missed a broken bone. The coloration was hideous, almost black—a shade he had only seen on frostbite victims. Yet, when he touched his toes to his beskar armbrace he could feel the cold metal, and if he focused through the pain, he could wiggle them. That was good. It'd have to be without a medbot. With a mind for his limited time, he got to work resetting the binding, this time giving the joint some help with a stick on either side for support. If he wasn't careful, it'd take a year to get his ankle to calm. If at all possible, he'd need to protect it from further damage.

That done, it left him with the unsavory task of fixing his chest injuries. The bear had further aggravated them. The bandages on his ribs had come undone marks ago in the fight. They hung slack and useless around his waist, held in place only by the constraining belts of his armor. Hauling his chest piece off, he dropped it to the side, its heavy bulk quickly buried under the twin weight of his faulds. His helmet stayed in place, as was The Way.

"Nnnn," Choking out a ragged gasp of pain, he eased his sweat laden shirt up, tucking the hem under his armpits so the fabric wouldn't get in the way. Even though the air was now growing icy with the coming of night, he was still feverishly warm, heat radiating from his aching chest. More bruises stained his skin, along with the deep red scrape of abrasions from being dragged through the sand. Each one was a hot pinpoint of infection scritching itchy and sharp against his skin. The child made a sound of worry, watching him with that look that said he wanted to help if only Din would let him.

"Shhh...it's fine." Din tried to comfort him, ripping his glove off, he used the grimy leather to muffle his pain, biting down on blood-stained hide and sucking great gulping mouthfuls of air through his nose. He set to palpating the wounds. His bare fingers worked up his side, gingerly feeling for the grinding sensation of broken bones. One. He shifted his fingers further up, moving his hand along until he encountered the next hot spot. Two. His other side proved similarly injured, a few more sore spots making themselves known, enough to make him question the integrity of his ribcage in its entirety. The pain doubled when he set to securing the bandages tightening them into a secure knot. He should have been used to the feeling by now, but the grate of ribs shifting still sent stars flickering in his vision. The glove muffled most of his exclamations, and he was able to wrap himself up faster with his hands free. By the time he was done, the alcohol was already helping him forget his pain. With everything forced into place, the pain even eased, becoming this bearable throb that he could breathe through, _if_ he didn't inhale too deeply.

The smell of overcooked meat hit his nostrils, but he didn't have the time to tend to the Marshal's meal. By the looks of it, it wasn't going to burn to a crisp any time soon, anyway.

Lullabelle's sounds were growing closer. Din dropped his shirt, covering his bare chest with a quick twitch of his wrist. Breathing, shallow, mindful breaths, he turned his attention towards the top of the dune in time to watch the dewback trollop her way onto the other side. It was dark, but he could see by the light of the stars that her back was heavy with packs again. Spitting his glove out of his mouth, he worked the leather back over his hand.

The Marshal whistled a greeting, guiding her down the dune with a steady hand to her halter. Din was surprised at how welcome their return felt, even when sand gushed downward with each blundering step, barely missing their fire.

"Watch the fire," Din called, easing his now well-bandaged foot down beneath the cover of his cloak once more. The ground near the fire was warm, the fire helping to retain what was left from the twin suns. It felt good on the joint, so he wiggled his foot down into the sand, heaving a sigh of relief when the additional pressure eased some of the aches.

"You'll be happy to know, nothing was stolen," The Marshal offered when he was within earshot. "That's not to say it wasn't broken. That bear, as good as destroyed Agnes' bullybang. That's coming out my own pocket, you know."

Oh, the silence had been nice while it lasted. Din sighed, glaring up at the sky for strength. Why was he supposed to care about some stranger's broken gun? Ignoring his armor, he slumped back into a more comfortable recline, dropping his head onto his palm, the padding of his helmet smushing against his cheek. The pain eased when he didn't have to hold himself up any longer, the natural curves in the sand supporting him.

Coming to a stop a short distance away from them, the Marshal heaved himself free from Lulabelle's back, his brown boots hitting the earth with a sound that echoed in the nights. He was but a shadow, the hint of a jaw, a streak of red, lit up by the fire for only an instant. Din followed his movements. The flash of long fingers unwinding rope, carefully dismantling the load off of Lulabelle and setting it to the side. The rough, drawl of his voice was barely distinguishable over the fire, but Din thought he might be muttering about the cost of replacing a broken gun. The words "too much" and "credits" standing out through the flurry of curses.

"Let's see it." Din's mouth was working before his brain caught on. Stars, he might be drunker than he thought. He snapped his lips closed, but it was too late. The Marshal turned around, eyes glinting like fresh gun oil in the firelight.

"What's that?" The Marshal question, tilting his head in confusion.

"Bring it here. I know a thing or two about weapons." Din reminded the other man, exasperated. Holding out his hand, he tried not to look too long into those eyes. Eyes that were currently looking at him like he'd transformed into a bantha. He didn't like how his mind was working right now. He was more interested in the Marshal than he'd like to admit. He found the other man fascinating in a way he couldn't comprehend and somehow couldn't stop. He'd never been so intrigued by another person, and for what reason?! The man was an idiot...maybe. Then again, that look in his eyes, that shrewd calculation, spoke volumes of hidden secrets. Secrets Din wished he could discover if he were honest with himself.

"Right...makes sense." The Marshal tapped his fingers on Lulabelle's back, considering Din's offered with a general air of distrust. "Course, then you'll have all my weapons, and I'll have none."

"I haven't shot you yet," Din growled, losing his patience.

"Yeah, I noticed. Alright, let's see what you got." The Marshal conceded, kicking open a crate and crouching to dig around inside. He came up with the gun and a muggy, almost clear bottle of water. The kid keened from his place, holding out his hands for it with a desperation that spoke for how thirsty he was. The gearshift fell to the ground, forgotten in his eagerness. 

"Here' you go...grub." The Marshal took a moment to uncork the bottle, walking over to their side of the fire and crouching down to offer the child some. 

"He's a child. Not an insect." Din bit back his first impulse, which was to point his gun at the other man and tell him to back up. Instead, he allowed it, watching the child snatched up the bottle with greedy fingers and took to gulping the drink down.

"It's called a pet name. I don't know his real one." The Marshal snorted, holding out the bullybang with his free hand, grip out, and the muzzle clinched between his fist. Din accepted it, blinking to clear his blurry eyes and examine the broken weapon.

"He doesn't have one," Din admitted absently, tilting the gun into the light so he could see more clearly. Bullybang. One of the more crude weapons he'd seen. Cheap, by his standards, though maybe not for a planetside native. Half of Tatooine was old slave stock, barely making it through the barren planet's harsh weather. But the gun was simple enough. 

He flipped open the storage compartment at the base of the gun. Inside was a small tool kit, which popped out, providing him with a wrench and screw set. Along with it was an extra battery capacitor wrapped in a waterproof casing. Din grunted, then began to disassemble it one piece at a time. The battery housing had shifted on its pin. He could see that right away. Other than needing a replacement handle, which was available for a couple of credits anywhere this side of the galaxy, it'd be an easy fix.

"Right, well, I'm done for the night." The Marshal left the child to the bottle, hauling himself upright with a crackling roll of his knees. "Don't kill me in my sleep Mando." He flopped down to settle on his side of the fire. Boots barely skimming embers, he stretched out those long legs of his. He was only still for a moment before making an 'ah-hah' sound at the sight of his stick of meat from the edge of the fire. Ripping a chunk free with a flash of what looked like overly sharp canines, he didn't make a single comment on its crisped nature.

Din watched him eat, content in the silence, his hands worked reflexively on their task. He didn't try to divert his gaze. What point was there when no one could truly say if he were looking at them or not? The helmet offered anonymity in that way. Neither one spoke. Instead, he welcomed the drowsy nature that came from sitting by a warm fire.

Din tried to keep awake. To stand guard and protect the child, but his body was exhausted past the point of enduring, and he was drunker than he'd been in a long time. His brow was sweaty from fever, despite the sinking temperature. All of that combined, so that when sleep came, it was with a slow slink and a heavyweight on his eyelids, relentless in its drag. His hands went lax, the gun falling to his chest and the screwdriver rolling downward to lodge against his side. He could no more pick it up than resist the call for rest, falling under its spell. The last thing he heard before he gave into the fight was that quiet, rich drawl from across the fire.

"After this, we're even...I don't help off-worlders."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter that isn't action heavy, and also one of the few upcoming chapter's that I had no preconceived idea's for. I just knew that they'd have to meet in some way. I'm gonna be honest, I second guessed myself the whole time writing it. Hopefully you all enjoy though!
> 
> Your feedback feeds my ugly little soul! Until next time lovelies.


	5. THE MARKET AND THE GRUB

"What do you mean, you don't have the parts? This is the newest model north this side of Tatooine." Cobb Vanth groaned, digging his fingers into his hair and glaring up into the suns. Maybe if he burnt his eyes out of his skull, shite would go right from now on? It was too early for this. The suns were barely peeking over the horizon, the air still holding that late night chill, though it was fast going up in temperature.

"This hunk of scrap? Vanth, this is a jerry-rigged mess." Peli Motto gave him a look that woulda made her droids shudder and run. Vanth scoffed. How dare she? This speeder was his damn pride and joy! "Part speeder, part Podracer, the only way I'm finding parts is to dig through the scrap yard and hope for a miracle." She slapped her hand on the front end, the curls on her head bobbing with the force of it. 

Vanth scowled, glaring around the shipyard. He was met with nothing but hunks of rusted metal and the scamper of droids scrambling to and from. She had one ship docked, an old gunner by the looks of it, with more wear than paint left. 

"Right, and how much are you gonna charge me for that, huh? I can go to the scrap yard myself." Vanth declined, feeling his pursestrings cringe at the very idea. 

"You, me, and the droids all know you don't have a mechanical bone in your body, Endoshen" She laughed, a deep in the belly sound that was more insulting than her words.

"Tch! Shh!' Vanth shushed her, glowering down at the sly minx. He hated the day he'd first met her. A young, once-slave, newly freed and terrified. She'd housed him, healed him up proper, but it meant she knew more of his secrets than he did hers. And boy, did she like to lord her knowledge over him. 

"Who's gonna hear us? Better yet, who cares?" Peli snorted, laughing harder. Dragging in a gasping breath, she heaved herself upright. "You stick to the policing Marshal, and I'll do the tough work." 

Well, damn her, she had a point, which meant he was out of transportation. That never was a good thing, not in Mos Eisley, anyway. There wasn't a chance he'd stay in this womprat-infested city for longer than necessary. Big cities gave him the shivers, he didn't have enough eyes or ears to keep up, and most of the time, he only stayed long enough to get what he needed before the sunset. A quick supply run for him and the villagers and an even faster stop at the bar to catch up on the local gossip was enough for him.

Mos Pelgos' people liked to keep to themselves. He was no exception. In his mind, there was too much bad history and blood to mingle with the masses. There'd been a time once, a long time ago, when he'd thought about hopping on a freighter and heading out into space, but he'd already had enough of that for a lifetime. Nah, he'd rather keep both feet on the ground and look out for his own the best he could.

"Right then, woman, suppose you wanna point a man in the direction of someone with a loaner? I guess I got a new ride to buy."

"Good luck with that. We had ourselves a shipload and a half of bounty hunters dock down. They bought up and rented out every speeder this side of the Wastes."

"Bounty hunters? Who's got a beacon on them?" Vanth asked, his eyes flashing to his commlink. He hadn't received notice of fugitives touching down. Then again, the New Republic rarely clued him in on the grander scheme of things. He had enough problems to deal with. 

"Wouldn't know myself. Last I heard, it's supposed to be off-record, freelance sort of thing." Peli glanced furtively about, and Vanth wasn't stupid enough not to notice her eyes lingering on that gunnership docked down. Whatever was going down, it had to do with the owner of that ship. What's more, Peli was protecting them. That said something. Though he wasn't sure what just yet. _Not my problem._ If there was one thing he'd learned, it was to keep his nose out of Mos Eisley's business, Marshal or no Marshal.

"Anyway, I'm fresh out myself." She went on, turning her attention towards picking some oil buildup from under her nails. "I sold my last one off two days ago, and I ain't anticipating on getting it back if you catch my drift." She chuckled, shaking her head, like losing a speeder was amusing rather than alarming. "Best you're gonna get is a ride of the fourlegged variety. A nice dewback will get you home to whatever cave you live in. Never did get you off the grid types. For that, you'll wanna see Haani in the market. He'll get you covered. Or not, he's an ornery one."

"Right...I expect I'll see you in a week?"

"Nah, you got it wrong. One week for parts," Peli stuck out her thumb, holding it up as high as her short little arms could take it. "And another for repairs." Holding up her pointer finger, she waved the two about before turning and heading back towards her office. Her overalls were stained black with oil on the rump. She didn't seem to notice or care. "That's two weeks, ya hear?!"

"Don't go scamming me, Peli Motto!" Vanth yelled at her retreating back, "I don't take kindly to price gouging!" Vanth scowled, eyes narrowed down as he glared at the mechanic's frizzy hair. She snorted, giving his speeder a kick on the way past. The fender trembled before falling to the ground with a crash. 

"Two weeks! And don't go fooling yourself. That's definitely cause I don't like ya!" She gave a parting shot before disappearing into her office, the door slamming closed behind her. 

Vanth rolled his eyes, chuckling under his breath. Oh, she liked him, that he was sure of. Patting the side of his once pristine speeder, he bid it goodbye before ducking out of the shipyard. It really was too bad. He could have sworn it was only a year ago that he'd got the thing. And sure. It wasn't the most elegant bucket on Tattooine, but it was fast, and it'd got him out of enough trouble spots to be worth the hefty credit loan he'd had to take out. Then again, time went by different out in the desert. The days tended to blend together, he supposed.

Stepping out into the spaceport's bustling back alleys, he made sure his commlink and any other valuables were safely tucked away and headed towards the market. Above and to either side, he was surrounded by thick sand walls, a city rising from the desert. The yammering hum of the port carried on, travelers from every planet this side of the galaxy shuffling by each other, on the hunt for food, a place to stay, or company to keep. Anything the port had to offer was up for grabs. The smell of fuel and rotten things burnt in his nostrils, overwhelming his sensitive senses. Vanth dragged his neckerchief up, covering his nose and mouth to block out some of the smell.

He frackin hated cities.

Most of the seedy back dealings didn't matter to Vanth. As long as they let him be, he would do the same. Those that didn't, well, usually the belt buckle or the blaster persuaded them otherwise. Marshal's held a small amount of respect in these parts. If he were home, he'd have his armor too, but that was more liable to get him shanked for the beskar than anything, and no amount of rocket launchers would stop a sneaky thief with a hankering for blood money. 

At the center of Mos Eisley was the market. A hodgepodge of vendors selling wares and goods. Here he could find anything from a bottle of spotchka to a chartered flight to see the Alderaan debris fields and everything in between. If he wanted to hire a bodyguard for the day, this was the place to do it. 

Not that he had any need for a bodyguard, he did fine on his own. What he did need was a damn ride. And by the sounds of it, his destination was towards the back of the market, near where the city faded back into the wilds of the desert. Following the bellowing calls off animals, he bypassed the numerous stalls between him and his purchase. Sure, he had some shopping to do, but that could wait until he knew what exactly his ride would be.

Finally, the stalls opened up into roped-off corrals. The first thing Vanth saw was an albino bantha, large pink eyes glaring at him from under a heavy drift of fur. Vanth bypassed it. He could not afford a bantha, much less a white one. The pack-animal's mournful wail followed after him, a sad song. 

The first vendor he saw was a scraggly old Ardennian, with arthritic, creaking joints on his four long arms. He sat under a large, silk umbrella, the faded blue tassels dancing in the dry wind. At the vendor's right was a brightly painted wagon, the doors a brilliant splash of green, the trim red and chipped from the desert sand. It was piled high with feedbags, cages, and what looked like saddles. In his hands, he held knitting needles and the makings of a scarf. One eye glazed over with cataracts, the other at least moderately better, he followed Vanth's approach, hooing out a greeting. 

"Morning. I'm looking for Haani?" Vanth called out once he was close enough to be heard. Deftly evading a group of kids that rushed past, he ducked under the stall umbrella and nodded his head in greeting.

"Yeah? Whooo asking?" The old monkey squawked more than spoke, disinterested. 

"Cobb Vanth. Peli sent me." Vanth explained. The Ardennian sniffed, cocking its head to the side and examining Vanth under his bottle thick goggles.

"Don't smell human." He grumbled, holding out one of his knitting needles to jab it at Vanth's gut.

"Yeah? We'll neither do you, fleabag." Vanth snarled, jerking back a step. The vendor raised one curly-haired eyebrow, looking him over once more. Vanth resisted the urge to hiss at him. Instead, he swayed from foot to foot and considered getting the hell out of there. Someone else had to know who Haani was. Hell, there were a dozen other sellers who could get him settled with a beast.

"If you could point me-"

"I is Haaaanni. What want?" Haani croaked, turning back to his knitting, all four hands deftly maneuvering the needles despite having joints thickened with age. Vanth groaned, rolling his eyes. Alright, he'd deal.

"A ride. Preferably a cheap one." Vanth answered, watching in fascination as those fingers worked. 

"How long?"

"Two weeks." 

A soft grunt. Then silence, as he went back to knitting. Vanth watched, growing slowly more and more impatient, as he worked first one row, then another, achingly slow. A ray of sunlight poked in through a whole in the umbrella, burning a hotspot on his cheek. The gnat's in the air buzzed by his ear, drawn to the smell of animal dung. Vanth bit back his impatience, turning his attention towards the animals in their stockades.

A herd of eopie stared at him with big vacant eyes, hooting sleepily. They were good pack animals, put fidgety and skittish. They also couldn't carry much past their own weight, not with those sticklike legs. 

To the right were a dozen birdlike creatures. They pecked aimlessly at the dirt, what they were eating beyond Vanth's knowledge. Vanth eyed them, curious. He had a feeling that Haster, one of the villagers more interested in farming than mining, would want a few. Not this time around, but maybe after he picked up the speeder. 

A couple more bantha seemed pride of place, beads and braids twined in their hairlike fur. They were useful beasts but didn't last long in Mos Pelgo. Too big, they attracted all sorts of trouble. Trouble in the form of a giant scaled wyrm. Vanth grimaced at the reminder. He needed to get home. This trip was only supposed to be a day and a night. He didn't like leaving his people undefended.

Just behind the Ardennian was a corral holding only one dewback. A female, judging by the scale patterns. She'd do. Peli had the rights of it, big enough to carry the haul he had to bring back, not too big to draw unnecessary attention. 

"The dewback, how-"

"Lullabelle not for sale." Haani interrupted, his teeth chattering aggressively. He snapped them in Vanth's direction, eyes flashing red for a moment. Vanth held up his hands, showing he meant no offense. 

"Yeah, alright. I'll go find someone else." Backing away from sharp white teeth, he stepped out from under the umbrella and into the blazing sun. He headed towards the next stall, more relieved than anything to get away from him.

"You loan. Two weeks!" Haani called out, his hoarse voice cracking. Vanth made it a couple of steps down the market path, pausing to consider his options. Peli had recommended the old fool...

"Perfect," Turning around, Vanth clapped his hands together. "How much?"

"Two hundred. Saddle is extra. You buy saddle, not borrow." Haani snapped, dropping his knitting and hopping down off his stool. He disappeared into his cart, coming out hauling a large saddle in his two left fists.

"150, you got a deal." Vanth counteroffered, his boots following after the Alderaan's back as he leapt over the wooden fence and into the dewback's pen.

"No, 200, fifty back when she returns to Haani. Other sellers have nothing but fleas and stinky old ones. Lullabelle is healthy. She good stock." Haani protested, patting her on the head and warbling softly under his breath.

Vanth turned his eyes toward the other vendors, examining their stock with a bitter pinch of his lips. Well, damn, it seemed Haani was right. There wasn't one among them that looked like it would survive the three-day journey.

"Alright. Deal. Save a couple of those birds for me, would ya? I'll pick 'em up when I get back." Vanth caved, yanking his scarf down long enough to spit in the sand. Damn, he could use a drink and a soak. He was drying out in this blasted sun.

"We'll see. For now...Lullabelle." Haani snapped, tossing the saddle over her back and whipping the belt around her large belly. He cinched it tight, ignoring the dewback's rumbles of protests and poking her with a knitting needle when she wouldn't deflate her air bladder. The lizard let out a gusting growl of annoyance, her wide girth diminishing considerably as she released all that pent-up air in a rush that stirred the dust on the ground.

"Look." The monkey waved Vanth over, poking a roll bound to the back of the saddle. "Sunshade. Over here." He ducked under Lullabelle's belly. Din didn't dare take that shortcut, following him around to the other side. "Straps for cargo." He flicked a couple of stray belt loops. "And this..." His hand rubbed the thick leather seat. "Protect from spines. Good saddle. Good deal." He persuaded, raising an eyebrow. Vanth raised one back, wondering if he was supposed to be impressed. "Now pay."

And pay Vanth did. He left Haani's with his purse feeling far too light and a guide rope in his hand. This wasn't his best day, that was certain. Lullabelle didn't seem to mind. She followed at his back, her sharp teeth catching in the fabric of his shirt as she mouthed it curiously.

"Stop that you." He snapped, shoving her large head away and yanking on her lead until she followed him into the market proper. There were plenty of other steeds in their various forms, so he didn't feel like he stuck out too much. It didn't matter. He had things to buy and a town to keep happy after all. 

For Guadra, he bought a box or two of spotchka, and other drinks, well packed for a tough journey. A bottle for himself and a load of rations for what would be a significantly longer trip. On top of that, he had a dozen other odds and ends to purchase. Every man and woman had provided him a list of requests, as they always did when he journeyed south to the larger cities. 

By the time he'd finished, Miss Lullabelle's back was piled high with goods. Various boxes and bags, full of flour and spices, seeds and soap, candies, and clothes. So much for living independently. Tying a knot into the final box of the day, Vanth turned his head down to his list and double-checked he had everything. 

He didn't notice the little thief sneaking up on the other side of Lullabelle. He couldn't have even if he wanted. The man was short, and the dewback's girth hid him well. Lullabelle did, though, and with a growl of warning. She whipped her head about, snapping sharp teeth at the hand that found its way onto his packages. The scream was what alerted Vanth. Dodging around Lullabelles head, he grinned, his fangs flashing at the sight of a Kabe, doubled over with two fewer fingers and orange blood spilling on the ground. Lulabelle eyed him innocently, her teeth crunching through something hard. Bone, no doubt.

"Go on, get out of here." Vanth snapped, kicking his boot towards the alien's batlike head. "Before she takes the rest of your hand off." He picked up his bottle of spotchka from where it'd fallen on the ground, being sure to tie it more securely this time around. 

"Come on, you sweet thing." He purred to his ride, heaving himself up onto her back with a grunt of effort. His thighs straddled her scaled back, the saddle a nice cushion between his soft parts and her sharp spine. There wasn't a point in stopping by the bar, not when he'd be back in a couple of weeks, any news could wait until then.

"Let's get outta this hellhole." Tutting her forward through the crowds, they parted around him, warily watching Lulabelle and her sharp teeth. Vanth grinned behind his mask, leaning forward to give her large neck a hefty pat. "Good lass." He praised, her chest rumbled with a happy little gurgle. 

It was only when they were well outside the city that he let himself relax, slumping back against his packs and letting Lullabelle take the reign once they were pointed in the right direction. Yanking the piece of fabric from off his face, he heaved in a lungful of dry desert air, untainted by the smell of chemicals and perspiration. 

It was a long road home. What was normally a one-and-a-half-day trip on his speeder now doubled. He'd be even worse off on foot, though, so he had one thing to be grateful for. The suns were getting near unbearable, so he unwound the heavy canopy from its rack behind the saddle, making himself a sunshade with a couple of collapsable sticks and some wrangling. Thick leather, dyed a deep red and embossed with the whirling pattern of birds in flight, popped up, blocking out the sun. When it finally slipped into position, the shade was pure bliss. Vanth groaned, wiping his brow. 

Haani had the right of it. This really was a good saddle. They road in silence long enough that he was certain he was out of Eisley's airwave radius. The quiet plodding of Lullabelle was the only thing that broke the deep morning quiet. When he was positive, his comm wouldn't be interrupted. He pulled it free from his trousers and activated it with a flick.

"Hey, Kat?" He called, pausing long enough for the static on the other side to buzz into the clear voice of his friend. Across the way, a dustdevil kicked up, blowing the sand into a tight funnel before fading into a spray of dirt.

"Hola, boyo! I didn't think you'd be answering so soon!" Kat's cheerful voice blared from the speaker, jolting him out of his comfortable quiet with her usual boisterous personality.

"Yeah, me either. I'm heading out, though. Speeder went down, so I had to make due. It's gonna take me a couple of days longer to get back." Vanth winced at the silence that followed. He could practically feel her judgment. If he'd been in the same room, she would have smacked him upside the head.

"Dammit, Cobb, I told you to get that hunk of junk fixed ages ago." Kat huffed on the other side. "It's gonna get you killed one day."

"Yeah, well, if I listened to you, life would be too easy." Vanth protested, directing Lullabelle around a large outcropping of sandstone. She ignored him, plowing right on through it with a huff and a flash of long white claws. 

"Alright, you stubborn bantha. Be careful out there. A report came through from Dud's ranch that there are bounty hunters afoot. And they aren't playing games. He heard gunfire and screams last night." She admitted. Danke Farrik! Those blasted bounty hunters. He knew they'd bite him in the ass.

"I heard." 

"Maybe you should go take a look. Should be running into it anyway." Kat offered, the sound of her lips smacking echoing through the static.

"Right. If I see it, I'll stop." Vanth groaned. The last thing he needed was to invite more problems. "How's it going in town?"

"No hide or scale of the big lug. We're all good here. Just get back safe." Kat's voice softened with affection. "I miss you already."

Vanth choked on his own spit, coughing around the glob of it.

"Ack gotta go. Catch ya later." He croaked around his heaving lungs, snapping his comm closed. Hell, she was persistent as a cave lion in heat. 

"Damn, woman." He shuddered, it was his fault for showing even an inkling of interest in a friendship, but couldn't she take a hint?

It took a good five hours until he came across signs of a scuffle. He was just an hour past Dud's ranch. The sound of the fight must have traveled far. The first thing he saw was the shot-up wreckage of a speeder bike. The frame was bent and twisted, the engine blown to splintered shrapnel. To the side lay a child's pram. The design was perhaps more advanced than he was used to but recognizable enough. Even it contained a couple of divets from blaster fire. It'd been an ambush. Vanth hopped down off of Lullabell's back, wincing as the bright sun stung his eyes. 

Three bodies littered the ground. Walking over to one, he pushed the sunbaked corpse over with the toe of his boot and crouched down to examine him. The dankbeetles had already got to him. Half his throat was gone from their large pinchers, and they had burrowed up into his body cavity. His clothes shifted and moved, their shuttling bodies burrowing away from the sunlight. Vanth grimaced, swallowing down his initial desire to gag. He was a Marshal. He'd seen worse. It didn't make it any less disgusting. Through all the gore, Vanth could still see what killed him. A blaster shot to the face, one arm blasted clear off, lying a few meters away. In his dismembered hand was a broken tracking beacon.

Bounty hunter. Vanth tapped his finger against the heavy shoulder armor the dead man wore. A helmet would have done him better in this case. The other two bodies were much the same. No survivors, no witnesses. He made a call into headquarters, requesting a conveyor come out and pick up the corpses. The likelihood of the transport coming in time before the desert finished them off was minimal, but he did what he could. 

Standing up, Vanth wiped desperately at the sweat on his brow as it blurred his vision, turning his attention north, looking for more evidence of what had happened. For people unfamiliar with the desert, they might not have known what to look far, but Vanth had been in the desert a long time, and he was a damn fine tracker. His keen eyes picked up telltale signs others might not see—slight, barely perceptible divots in the sand. Footprints, chasing someone. The telltale trail of a speeder bike. He followed after, his eyes flashing over each step, counting. Fifteen. Fifteen bounty hunters at the least. For one man? Seemed like overkill to him.

Eventually, the tracks lead down the sharp incline of a dune and then further. Far enough that he had to ride Lullabelle the rest of the way. The burnt-up remains of a cactus were his next clue, followed by sand blackened with blaster fire. A second fight had taken place here, separate from the rest of the bounty hunters. He found the fourth body half-buried in sand a meters away from the other bounty hunters footprints, green blood making a heavy, thick sludge around it—Trandoshan by the looks of him, and far past saving. At first, Vanth had to wonder if this was the bounty. This man wasn't part of the other group. He'd come in solo. Another bounty hunter, or their bounty? He found it hard to believe they'd leave the body behind if he was. They'd need it to get whatever price was on the man's head.

That's when he heard it. A roar, ricocheting off the sandy dunes, echoing over the fast expanse of desert, and shortly behind it, the shout of a man in pain ** **.**** There wasn't any time to think. Running back to Lullabelle, he yanked on the saddlehorn and heaved himself up onto her back. 

"Huphup!" He shouted, his heels digging into her belly, urging her to move. She hissed, resisting at first, her chin dragging in the sand as he hauled on her halter and urged her forward. Finally, she listened, breaking into a stumbling lurch, her claw twisted under her heavy body. Vanth let up long enough for her to right herself, then kicked her sides and urged her into a run. All the while, that screeching howl shattered around them, coming from the north. Finally, she followed his lead, plowing across the desert until the wind blew in his hair, making him breathless. Above him, the canopy flapped, threatening to blow away. He yanked it down, twisting the rods closed and shoving them into his pack.

Later he'd ask himself why he'd been so keen to come to that unknown person's aide. He'd sit down and wonder what the hell he was thinking. But at the moment, it seemed the right thing to do.

* * *

The suns finally set, and the moons were high in the sky, eating their way towards dawn. Cobb Vanth sat before a fire he didn't build, at a location he most certainly didn't pick, and a headache he couldn't recall the source of. A blaring, angry throb bounced its way from the back of his head towards the front. He was concussed, oh boy, was he concussed. The sparks shimmering in his vision were definitely not stars, and he felt nauseous as all hell, the meat sitting in his belly liable to come up at any minute. An urge he was powering through at the moment, mostly because he was half-starving and dying to eat more of it. 

The Mandalorian hadn't seemed all that concerned about the headwound. And Vanth wasn't either if he were honest. His kind were less prone to the more negative effects of a head injury. Even though he was a few planets and a stone's throw away from any body of water, his skull had been made for the rough tides of the ocean. Lucky for him. Otherwise, he'd probably be deader than that sunbear was. Not that the Mandalorian knew that. According to his eye, Vanth should look like an ordinary human, which meant that, by all accounts, he'd left Vanth to die. Lifting his hand to the back of his head, Vanth felt around under his hair, wrinkling his nose at the bump still hidden underneath. He was lucky. And stupid. 

_Why did I try to help him anyway?_ Vanth asked himself, quietly fuming on his side of the fire. It'd been a moment of weakness, or maybe his inner morals making a show, that'd made him urge Lulabelle to attack at the sight of the two fighting. And oh, what a sight it'd been. One figure, struggling up from the sand, injured, weaponless, going up against terrible odds. And then he'd raised those fists of his and stood off against that sandbear like it was no more terrifying than a dankbeetle. Vanth reached for the bottle of spotchka. So yeah...he'd jumped in the fray against his better judgment. 

He'd always been a sucker for the strong ones with low life expectancies...but look what that got him! Sitting on the ground, with sand going into places he dared not mention to anyone, babysitting a goshdarn grub when he could have been half a day's ride closer to home.

"Frack, it's getting cold as a womprat's ass out there. I cant feel my fingertips." Vanth hissed, leaning closer to the fire, his eyes furtively flickering towards his companions.

The Mandalorian was sleeping. Or at least Vanth thought he was. It was hard to tell behind that thick metal helmet of his. Even now, that visor was pointed his way, giving Vanth the feeling that he was being watched even though there was the light sound of snoring coming from underneath that tin can. It was enough to give a fellow the heebie-jeebies! He was sprawled on a piece of tattered old fabric, his head supported by the hill behind him, one foot halfway towards being in the fire, the other splayed out towards the grub, the toe of his boot twisting in the nylon strap of the backpack the kid was using as a bed.

It wasn't any better on the other side of the fire, either. The grub didn't seem half as tired as the Mandalorian, bright-eyed and gurgling to himself. He observed Vanth with avid curiosity, those eyes of his following Vanth's every move like he was some kind of circus show. Vanth wasn't one to back down from a fight, even one that just involved not blinking. So he gave as good as he got, glaring into those galaxy-black peepers.

"What you looking at?" He taunted, though he didn't know why he bothered asking. All he got was a gurgle in response from the grub, and then that little face ducked down, hiding away, or maybe just focusing on trying to eat. Cute little sucker. What was it trying to do? Make kabobs? Vanth twitched in concern as those little fingers tried to wrangle the meat onto the sharp pointy end of his stick, nearly stabbing his hand in the process.

One glance at the Mando showed that he was out like a light. He wasn't gonna be of any help, then. He was snoring softly and twisted at an awkward angle that looked likely to leave him with a neck ache in the morning. Half his armor was tossed to the side, and looking at him, Vanth got the feeling he hadn't fallen asleep of his own volition. More than likely, he'd crashed from sheer exhaustion. 

The grub yelped, jerking his finger away from the sharp, pointed end of the stick and staring at it in open betrayal. 

"Shite! Give that here. Before you kill yourself." Vanth hissed, glancing furtively at the Mandalorian. The last thing he needed was being blamed for hurting the thing. He'd probably end up skewered, too, by that disruptor rifle, no doubt. Hell, that weapon was shiny. It had to have cost a pretty pound of credits. Scrambling around the fire, he snatched the stick from its grubby fingers and dropped to his rump beside him. The kid murmured in alarm, swaying of kilter, before tumbling off its makeshift bed and peering up at him with a disgruntled pout. Vanth winced but didn't try to touch him, just watched the little thing struggle upright.

"Come on, hand us a piece." Vanth urged in his usually gruff way, holding out his hand for a piece of meat. Uncertain at first, maybe a little shy about being around a stranger, the boy finally shuffled forward, holding out his hands with an uncertain flinch. Vanth rolled his eyes. He wasn't gonna do the kid no harm. Wiggling his fingers to beckon the boy closer, the kid finally stumbled forward until a chunk of raw bear meat landed in Vanth's palm. "That's a good grublet. Let Uncle Vanth get you some." Vanth crooned, wiping his icy nose on his sleeve. He popped his knife out of his belt pocket and started the careful process of cutting up the meat. A chunk this size would take decades to cook. The very sight of the food sent his stomach rolling. He tried not to think too hard on it, forcing himself not to pay attention to the squelch of meat parting under his knife. Taking the brat's stick, he did the tough work, jamming a couple of slices down onto the skewer and offering it back to the little thing. 

"You got this?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. The grub gave him a look. Vanth grinned, "You're tough like your Da than." He cast an eye to the sleeping Mandalorian, shaking his head. He had to admit the tin can was as tough as they came. He didn't have to like the man, But damn, he'd done some fine work taking down that bear, and if there was one thing Vanth could admire, it was strength.

"He looks like you, under all that armor?" Wasn't that the question just niggling to be answered? If he did, how the hell did he fit those ears under that helmet? Maybe they shrink as they grow? Taking his cooking stick, Vanth leaned across the fire, furtively lifting the edge of one pant leg. Pale skin showed in the firelight, rarely touched by the sun, not an inch of green to be seen on it. There was a light touch at his sleeve, and Vanth looked over to see bitty little fingers twisting in the cotton of his shirt. 

"What?"

"Guh!" Another tug, followed by large ears laying back against his head and the peak of white teeth biting on green lips. "Oh fine, you're no funner than him. Cook your meat, you." Grumbling under his breath, Vanth set his stick to flipping the thin slices of meat the Mando was drying out on the rocks, sheathing his knife back in his belt while he was at it. Either way, his question was answered. The Mando was definitely not green. He was a distinct shade of peach, unmarred by neither scales nor warts. By all observations, he was human, or at least humanoid. Which just lent itself to more questions. 

Was the kid his? What was he even supposed to look like? Mandalorians...they were an odd lot, weren't they? Vanth had never met one in his life, not a real one at least. But this guy was different. He hadn't caught a glimpse of that face, not even a snatching of skin as he ate. That took some skill, some practice. Mandalorian or not, Vanth had to hand it to the man. He was as dedicated as he was an ass. 

"Get away from him." Vanth jerked to attention, stick falling into the fire, his eyes looking straight down the barrel of his blaster...again, which just about proved his point. Further past that, he stared directly into the dusty glass visor of the Mando's helmet. A shiver rushed up his spine, his back tensing at the threat. Damn, the bastard was scary. 

"Oh, for frack's sake." Vanth turned his head, spitting into the fire—the grit of sand crunching under his teeth. "I wasn't hurtin' him." He snapped, heaving himself upright and almost falling over in the process. Holding his hands up to show he meant no harm, he shuffled away from the Mandalorian's side of the fire. "You're a shite fuckin' host, you know." He snapped, dropping to his ass beside Lullabelle. 

He needn't have bothered. By the time he'd reached the other side, the gun had fallen from lax fingers, and the Mando had fallen asleep again, his head lulling to the side, his breath rattling in his chest. Agnes' bullybang lay still discombobulated at his thigh, forgotten in his exhaustion. Vanth left it there. Wasn't a chance in hell he'd try to take it back, not unless he wanted a hole in his head.

"Wha?" Vanth watched, glancing between and the baby and the prone body of the Mandalorian's slumped body. The kid was also looking at the Mandalorian, his face twisted in an expression of concern, his food forgotten. "That ain't normal then?" Vanth questioned. 

They fell into an uncertain silence, the sounds of the Mandalorian's ragged breathing filling the air between them. Vanth listened to it, pushing back any concern he had. He needed to remember that this was probably a criminal, on the run from bounty hunters, and no matter how it might seem, he'd probably been the one to kill all those men just a mile from their small campsite. The Mandalorian was dangerous. The Mandalorian was an offworlder. And Cobb Vanth, no matter what his heart said, did _not_ help offworlders.

Come morning, he was out of here before the unlucky bastard brought him even more pain and trouble. 

Across the fire, there was a familiar sound, followed by a distinct smell. Vanth wrinkled his nose, leaning back and waving a hand at his nose. Danke Farrik! One look at the kid proved exactly where the smell was coming from.

"We'll leave that for Da to take care of. Dang kid, what'd you eat? You smell like a fart cactus!" Vanth croaked, eyes watering, his nostrils ablaze with the ripe scent. "Goshdammit." That was the last straw for his sensitive nose. He scrambled away from the fire, and wretched his dinner up into the sand, dry heaving around the aching throb of his skull.

_Fracking offworlders._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is by far the funnest chapter to write so far. I'm digging getting to world-build outside of a desert for once! And Cobb's perspective is just so dang fun!
> 
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks are appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Eeepp, my first dive into the Mandalorian fandom! I hope you all like it!
> 
> The story length seems to be running around 12 chapters, more or less. we'll see what happens!


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